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FLAMSTED    QUARRIES 


BOOKS    BY 

MARY    E.  WALLER 


THE  WOOD-CARVER  OF  'LYMPUS 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  RICH 
THE  LITTLE  CITIZEN 
SANNA 

OUR  BENNY 
A  YEAR  OUT  OF  LIFE 
FLAMSTED  QUARRIES 
THROUGH    THE   GATES   OF  THE 
NETHERLANDS 


"She  sang  straight  on,  verse  after  verse  without  pause  " 

FRONTISPIECE.      See  p.  10 


FLAMSTED 
QUARRIES 


BY 


MARY   E,  WALLER 
-i^" 

Author  of  "The  Woodi«!Carver  of  'Lympus 
•'Through  the  Gates  of  the  Netherlands" 
"A  Daughter  of  the  Rich,"  etc. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


G.    PATRICK    NELSON 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND    COMPANY 

1910 


Copyright, 
BY  MARY  E.   WALLER 


jdll  rights   reserved 
Published  September,  1910 


PRESSWORK    BY    C.  H.  SIMONDS   &   CO.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


TO    THOSE  WHO   TOIL 


Contents 

PAGE 

THE  BATTERY  IN  LIEU  OF  A  PREFACE       ...  3 

PART  FIRST,  A  CHILD  FROM  THE  VAUDEVILLE    .  7 

PART  SECOND,  HOME  SOIL 55 

PART  THIRD,  IN  THE  STREAM 147 

PART  FOURTH,  OBLIVION 319 

PART  FIFTH,  SHED  NUMBER  Two 361 

THE  LAST  WORD 473 


Illustrations 


«'  She  sang  straight  on,  verse  after  verse  without 


pause 


"     ,  FRONTISPIECE 


"Those  present   loved  in   after   years   to    recall 

this  scene" Page     69 

"  What  a  picture  she  made  leaning  caressingly 

against   the   charmed   and   patient    Bess".  "      176 

"  «  Unworthy  —  unworthy  ! '     was     Champney 

Googe's  cry,   as  he  knelt  before  Aileen  "  "     467 


Flamsted   Quarries 


"Abysmal  deeps  repose 

Beneath  the  stout  ship's  keel  whereon  we  glide; 
And  if  a  diver  plunge  far  down  within 
Those  depths  and  to  the  surface  safe  return, 
His  smile,  if  so  it  chance  he  smile  again, 
Outweighs  in  worth  all  gold." 


The  Battery  in  Lieu  of  a 
Preface 

A  FEW  years  ago,  at  the  very  tip  of  that  narrow 
rocky  strip  of  land  that  has  been  well  named 
"the  Tongue  that  laps  the  Commerce  of  the 
World,"     the    million-teeming   Island  of  Manhattan, 
there  was  daily  presented  a  scene  in  the  life-drama  of 
our  land  that  held  in  itself,  as  in  solution,  a  great 
national  ideal.    The  old  heroic  "Epic  of  the  Nations" 
was  still  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  and  masquerading 
here  among  us  of  the  then  nineteenth  century  in  the 
guise  of  the  arrival  of  the  immigrant  ship. 

The  scenic  setting  is  in  this  instance  incomparably 
fine.  As  we  lean  on  the  coping  of  the  sea  wall  at  the 
end  of  the  green-swarded  Battery,  in  the  flush  of  a 
May  sunset  that,  on  the  right,  throws  the  Highlands 
of  the  Navesink  into  dark  purple  relief  and  lights 
the  waters  of  Harbor,  River,  and  Sound  into  a  softly 
swelling  roseate  flood,  we  may  fix  our  eyes  on  the  ap 
proach  to  The  Narrows  and  watch  the  incoming  ship 
ping  of  the  world:  the  fruit-laden  steamer  from  the 
Bermudas,  the  black  East  Indiaman  heavy  with 
teakwood  and  spices,  the  lumberman's  barge  awash 
behind  the  tow,  the  old  three-masted  schooner,  low 
in  the  water,  her  decks  loaded  with  granite  from  the 
far-away  quarries  of  Maine.  We  may  see,  if  we  linger, 


4  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  swift  approach  of  a  curiously  foreshortened  ocean 
steamship,  her  smokestack  belching  blackness,  and 
the  slower  on-coming  of  a  Norwegian  bark,  her  sails 
catching  the  sunset  light  and  gleaming  opaline  against 
the  clear  blue  of  the  southern  horizon.  These  last  are 
the  immigrant  ships. 

An  hour  later  in  old  Castle  Garden  the  North  and 
South  of  Europe  clasp  hands  on  the  very  threshold  of 
America.  Four  thousand  feet  are  planted  on  the  soil 
of  the  New  World.  Four  thousand  hands  are  knocking 
at  its  portals.  Two  thousand  hearts  are  beating  high 
with  hope  at  prospect  of  the  New,  or  palpitating  with 
terror  at  contact  with  the  Strange. 

A  thousand  tragedies,  a  thousand  comedies  are 
here  enacted  before  our  very  eyes:  hopes,  fears,  tears, 
laughter,  shrieks,  groans,  wailings,  exultant  cries, 
welcoming  w^ords,  silent  all-expressing  hand-clasp, 
embrace,  despairing  wide-eyed  search,  hopeless  isola 
tion,  the  befriended,  the  friendless,  the  home-wel 
comed,  the  homeless  —  all  commingled. 

But  an  official  routine  soon  sorts,  separates,  pairs, 
locates;  speaks  in  Norwegian,  speaks  in  Neapolitan. 
An  hour  passes;  the  dusk  falls;  the  doors  are  opened; 
the  two  thousand,  ticketed,  labelled,  are  to  enter  upon 
the  new  life.  The  confusing  chatter  grows  less  and 
less.  A  child  wails,  and  is  hushed  in  soft  Italian  —  a 
Neapolitan  lullaby  —  by  its  mother  as  she  sits  on 
a  convenient  bench  and  for  the  first  time  gives  her 
little  one  the  breast  in  a  strange  land.  An  old  Nor 
wegian,  perhaps  a  lineal  descendant  of  our  Viking 
visitors  some  thousand  years  ago,  makes  his  way  to 
the  door,  bent  beneath  a  sack-load  of  bedding;  his 
right  hand  holds  his  old  wrife's  left.  They  are  the  last 
to  leave. 


Flamsted  Quarries  5 

The  dusk  has  fallen.  To  the  sea  wall  again  for  air 
after  the  thousands  of  garlic-reeking  breaths  in  old 
Castle  Garden.  The  sea  is  dark.  The  heavens  are 
deep  indigo;  against  them  flashes  the  Liberty  beacon; 
within  them  are  set  the  Eternal  Lights.  Upon  the 
waters  of  the  harbor  the  illumined  cabin  windows  of 
a  multitude  of  river  craft  throw  quivering  rays  along 
the  slow  glassy  swell. 

For  a  moment  on  River,  and  Harbor,  and  Sound, 
there  is  silence.  But  behind  us  we  hear  the  subdued 
roar  and  beat  of  the  metropolis,  a  sound  comparable 
to  naught  else  on  earth  or  in  heaven:  the  mighty 
systole  and  dyastole  of  a  city's  heart,  and  the  tramp, 
tramp  of  a  million  homeward  bound  toilers  —  the 
marching  tune  of  Civilization's  hosts,  to  which  the 
feet  of  the  newly  arrived  immigrants  are  already  keep 
ing  time,  for  they  have  crossed  the  threshold  of  old 
Castle  Garden  and  entered  the  New  World. 


PART   FIRST 

A  Child  from  the  Vaudeville 


PART   FIRST 

A  Child  from    the  Vaudeville 


THE  performance  in  itself  was  crude  and  com 
monplace,  but  the  demonstration  in  regard  to 
it  was  unusual.  Although  this  scene  had 
been  enacted  both  afternoon  and  evening  for  the  past 
six  weeks,  the  audience  at  the  Vaudeville  was  showing 
its  appreciation  by  an  intent  silence. 

The  curtain  had  risen  upon  a  street  scene  in  the 
metropolis  at  night.  Snow  was  falling,  dimming  the 
gas  jets  at  the  corner  and  half-veiling,  half-disclosing 
the  imposing  entrance-porch  of  a  marble  church.  The 
doors  were  closed ;  the  edifice  dark.  As  the  eyes  of  the 
onlookers  became  accustomed  to  the  half-lights,  they 
were  aware  of  a  huddle  of  clothes  against  the  iron  rail 
ing  that  outlined  the  curve  of  the  three  broad  entrance- 
steps.  As  vision  grew  keener  the  form  of  a  child  was 
discernible,  a  little  match  girl  who  was  lighting  one  by 
one  a  few  matches  and  shielding  the  flame  with  both 
hands  from  the  draught.  Suddenly  she  looked  up  and 
around.  The  rose  window  above  the  porch  was  softly 
illumined;  the  light  it  emitted  transfused  the  thickly 
falling  snow.  Low  organ  tones  became  audible,  al 
though  distant  and  muffled. 

The  child  rose;  came  down  the  centre  of  the  stage 
to  the  lowered  footlights  and  looked  about  her,  first  at 


I  o  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  orchestra,  then  around  and  up  at  the  darkened 
house  that  was  looking  intently  at  her  —  a  small  ill- 
clad  human,  a  spiritual  entity,  the  only  reality  in  this 
artificial  setting.  She  grasped  her  package  of  matches 
in  both  hands;  listened  a  moment  as  if  to  catch  the 
low  organ  tones,  then  began  to  sing. 

She  sang  as  a  bird  sings,  every  part  of  her  in  motion : 
throat,  eyes,  head,  body.  The  voice  was  clear,  loud, 
full,  strident,  at  times,  on  the  higher  notes  from  over- 
exertion,  but  always  childishly  appealing.  The  gallery 
leaned  to  catch  every  word  of  "The  Holy  City." 

She  sang  straight  on,  verse  after  verse  without  pause. 
There  was  no  modulation,  no  phrasing,  no  interpreta 
tion  ;  it  was  merely  a  steady  fortissimo  outpouring  of  a 
remarkable  volume  of  tone  for  so  small  an  instrument. 
And  the  full  power  of  it  was,  to  all  appearance, 
sent  upwards  with  intent  to  the  gallery.  In  any  case, 
the  gallery  took  the  song  unto  itself,  and  as  the  last 
words,  "Hosanna  for  evermore'1  rang  upward,  there  was 
audible  from  above  a  long-drawn  universal  "Ah!"  of 
satisfaction. 

It  was  followed  by  a  half  minute  of  silence  that  was 
expressive  of  latent  enthusiasm.  The  child  was  still 
waiting  at  the  footlights,  evidently  for  the  expected 
applause  from  the  higher  latitudes.  And  the  gallery 
responded  —  how  heartily,  those  who  were  present  have 
never  forgotten:  roar  upon  roar,  call  upon  call,  round 
after  round  of  applause,  cries  of  approbation  couched 
in  choice  Bowery  slang,  a  genuine  stampede  that  shook 
the  spectators  in  their  seats.  It  was  an  irresistible,  in 
satiable,  unappeasable,  overwhelming  clamor  for  more. 
The  infection  of  enthusiasm  was  communicated  to 
floors,  balconies,  boxes;  they  answered,  as  it  were, 
antiphonally.  Faces  were  seen  peeking  from  the  wings ; 


Flamsted  Quarries  1 1 

hands  were  visible  there,  clapping  frantically.  In  the 
midst  of  the  tumultuous  uproar  the  little  girl  smiled 
brightly  and  ran  off  the  stage. 

The  lights  were  turned  on.  A  drop-scene  fell;  the 
stage  was  transformed,  for,  in  the  middle  distance, 
swelling  green  hills  rose  against  a  soft  blue  sky  seen 
between  trees  in  the  foreground.  Sunshine  lay  on  the 
landscape,  enhancing  the  haze  in  the  distance  and 
throwing  up  the  hills  more  prominently  against  it. 
The  cries  and  uproar  continued. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  common  dressing-room  beyond 
the  wings,  there  was  being  enacted  a  scene  which 
if  slightly  less  tumultuous  in  expression  was  consider 
ably  more  dangerous  in  quality.  A  quick  word  went  the 
round  of  the  stars'  private  rooms;  it  penetrated  to  the 
sanctum  of  the  Japanese  wrestlers;  it  came  to  the  ear 
of  the  manager  himself:  "The  Little  Patti  's  struck  !" 
It  sounded  ominous,  and,  thereupon,  the  Vaudeville 
flocked  to  the  dressing-room  door  to  see  —  what  ? 
Merely  a  child  in  a  tantrum,  a  heap  of  rags  on  the  floor, 
a  little  girl  in  white  petticoats  stamping,  dancing, 
pulling  away  from  an  old  Italian  woman  who  was 
trying  to  robe  her  and  exhorting,  imploring,  threaten 
ing  the  child  in  almost  one  and  the  same  breath. 

The  manager  rushed  to  the  rescue  for  the  house 
was  losing  its  head.  He  seized  the  child  by  the  arm. 
"What's  the  matter  here,  Aileen?" 

"I  ain't  goin'  ter  dance  a  coon  ter-night  —  not  ter- 
night!"  she  cried  defiantly  and  in  intense  excitement; 
"he's  in  the  box  again,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  give  him  the 
Sunday-night  song,  like  as  I  did  before  when  he  give 
me  the  flowers,  so  now!" 

Nonna  Lisa,  the  old  Italian,  slipped  the  white  dress 
deftly  over  the  mutinous  head,  so  muffling  the  half- 


12  Flamsted  Quarries 

shriek.  The  manager  laughed.  "  Hurry  up  then  — 
on  with  you!"  The  child  sprang  away  with  a  bound. 
"I've  seen  this  too  many  times  before"  he  added; 
"it's  an  attack  of  'the  last  night's  nerves.'  --  Hark  !" 

The  tumult  was  drowning  the  last  notes  of  the 
orchestral  intermezzo,  as  the  little  girl,  clad  now  wholly 
in  white,  ran  in  upon  the  stage  and  coming  again  down 
the  centre  raised  her  hand  as  if  to  command  silence. 
With  the  gallery  to  see  was  to  obey;  the  floor  and 
balconies  having  subsided  the  applause  from  above 
died  away. 

The  child,  standing  in  the  full  glare  of  the  foot 
lights  with  the  sunny  skyey  spaces  and  overlapping 
blue  hills  behind  her,  half-faced  the  brilliant  house  as, 
without  accompaniment,  she  began  to  sing: 


"There  is  a  green  hill  far  away 
Without  a  city  wall." 


The  childish  voice  sustained  the  simple  melody 
perfectly,  and  it  was  evident  when  the  little  girl  began 
the  second  verse  that  she  was  singing  wrholly  to  please 
herself  and  some  one  in  a  proscenium  box.  Before  the 
close  of  the  first  stanza  the  gallery  experienced  a  turn, 
the  audience  as  a  whole  a  sensation.  Night  after 
night  the  gallery  gods  had  made  it  a  point  to  be  present 
at  that  hour  of  the  continuous  performance  when  the 
Little  Patti  —  such  was  the  name  on  the  poster  — 
sang  either  her  famous  Irish  song  "  Oh,  the  praties 
they  are  small",  or  "The  Holy  City",  and  followed 
them  by  a  coon  dance  the  like  of  which  was  not  to  be 
seen  elsewhere  in  NewYork ;  for  into  it  the  child  threw 
such  an  abandonment  of  enthusiasm  that  she  carried 
herself  and  her  audience  to  the  verge  of  extravagance  — 
the  one  in  action,  the  other  in  expression. 


Flamsted  Quarries  I  3 

And  now  this ! 

A  woman  sobbed  outright  at  the  close  of  the  second 
verse.  The  gallery  heard  —  it  hated  hysterics  —  and 
considered  whether  it  should  look  upon  itself  as  cheated 
and  protest,  or  submit  quietly  to  being  coerced  into 
approval.  The  scales  had  not  yet  turned,  when  some 
one  far  aloft  drew  a  long  breath  in  order  to  force  it  out 
between  closed  teeth,  and  this  in  sign  of  disapproval. 
That  one  breath  was,  in  truth,  indrawn,  but  whether 
or  no  there  was  ever  an  outlet  for  the  same  remained 
a  question  with  the  audience.  A  woollen  cap  was 
deftly  and  unexpectedly  thrust  between  the  malevolent 
lips  and  several  pair  of  hands  held  it  there  until  the 
little  singer  left  the  stage. 

What  appeal,  if  any,  that  childish  voice,  dwelling 
melodiously  on  the  simple  words,  made  to  the  audience 
as  a  whole,  cannot  be  stated  because  unknown;  but 
that  it  appealed  powerfully  by  force  of  suggestion,  by 
the  power  of  imagination,  by  the  law  of  association,  by 
the  startling  contrast  between  the  sentiment  expressed 
and  the  environment  of  that  expression,  to  three,  at 
least,  among  the  many  present  is  a  certainty. 

There  is  such  a  thing  in  bur  national  life  —  a  constant 
process,  although  often  unrecognized  —  as  social  anasto 
mosis:  the  intercommunication  by  branch  of  every 
vein  and  veinlet  of  the  politico-social  body,  and  thereby 
the  coming  into  touch  of  lives  apparently  alien.  As 
a  result  we  have  a  revelation  of  new  experiences;  we 
find  ourselves  in  subjection  to  new  influences  of  before 
unknown  personalities;  'we  perceive  the  opening-up 
of  new  channels  of  communication  between  individual 
and  individual  as  such.  We  comprehend  that  through 
it  a  great  moral  law  is  brought  into  operation  both  in 
the  individual  and  the  national  life.  And  in  recogni- 


14  Flamsted  Quarries 

tion  of  this  natural,  though  oft  hidden  process,  the  fact 
that  to  three  men  in  that  audience  —  men  whose  life 
lines,  to  all  appearance,  were  divergent,  whose  aims 
and  purposes  were  antipodal  —  the  simple  song  made 
powerful  appeal,  and  by  means  of  that  appeal  they 
came  in  after  life  to  comprehend  something  of  the 
workings  of  this  great  natural  law,  need  cause  no  won 
derment,  no  cavilling  at  the  so-called  prerogative  of 
fiction.  The  laws  of  Art  are  the  laws  of  Life,  read 
smaller  on  the  obverse. 

The  child  was  singing  the  last  stanza  in  so  profound 
a  silence  that  the  fine  snapping  of  an  overcharged 
electric  wire  was  distinctly  heard : 

"Oh,  dearly,  dearly  has  he  loved 

And  we  must  love  him  too, 
And  trust  in  his  redeeming  blood, 
And  try  his  works  to  do." 

The  little  girl  waited  at  the  footlights  for  —  some 
thing.  She  had  done  her  best  for  an  encore  and  the 
silence  troubled  her.  She  looked  inquiringly  towards 
the  box.  There  was  a  movement  of  the  curtains  at 
the  back;  a  messenger  boy  came  in  with  flowers;  a 
gentleman  leaned  over  the  railing  and  motioned  to 
the  child.  She  ran  forward,  holding  up  the  skirt  of 
her  dress  to  catch  the  roses  that  were  dropped  into  it. 
She  smiled  and  said  something.  The  tension  in  the 
audience  gave  a  little;  there  was  a  low  murmur  of 
approval  which  increased  to  a  buzz  of  conversation; 
the  conductor  raised  his  baton  and  the  child  with  a 
courtesy  ran  off  the  stage.  But  there  was  no  applause. 

During  the  musical  intermezzo  that  followed,  the 
lower  proscenium  box  was  vacated  and  in  the  first 
balcony  one  among  a  crowd  of  students  rose  and 
made  his  way  up  the  aisle. 


Flamsted  Quarries  15 

"Lien's  keller,  Champ?"  said  a  friend  at  the  exit, 
putting  a  hand  on  his  shoulder;  "I'm  with  you." 

"Not  to-night."  He  shook  off  the  detaining  hand 
and  kept  on  his  way.  The  other  stared  after  him, 
whistled  low  to  himself  and  went  down  the  aisle  to  the 
vacant  seat. 

At  the  main  entrance  of  the  theatre  there  was  an 
incoming  crowd.  It  was  not  late,  only  nine.  The 
drawing-card  at  this  hour  was  a  famous  Parisian 
singer  of  an  Elysee  cafe  chantant.  The  young  fellow 
stepped  aside,  beyond  the  ticket-office  railing,  to  let  the 
first  force  of  the  inrushing  human  stream  exhaust 
itself  before  attempting  egress  for  himself.  In  doing 
so  he  jostled  rather  roughly  two  men  who  were  evi 
dently  of  like  mind  with  him  in  their  desire  to  avoid 
the  press.  He  lifted  his  hat  in  apology,  and  recognized 
one  of  them  as  the  occupant  of  the  proscenium  box, 
the  gentleman  who  had  given  the  roses  to  the  little 
singer.  The  other,  although  in  citizen's  dress,  he  saw 
by  the  tonsure  was  a  priest. 

The  sight  of  such  a  one  in  that  garb  and  that  en 
vironment,  diverted  for  the  moment  Champney  Googe's 
thoughts  from  the  child  and  her  song.  He  scanned 
the  erect  figure  of  the  man  who,  after  immediate  and 
courteous  recognition  of  the  other's  apology,  became 
oblivious,  apparently,  of  his  presence  and  intent  upon 
the  passing  throng. 

The  crowd  thinned  gradually;  the  priest  passed 
out  under  the  arch  of  colored  electric  lights;  the 
gentleman  of  the  box,  observing  the  look  on  the  stu 
dent's  face,  smiled  worldly- wisely  to  himself  as  he, 
too,  went  down  the  crimson-carpeted  incline.  Champ 
ney  Googe's  still  beardless  lip  had  curled  slightly  as 
if  his  thought  were  a  sneer. 


II 

THE  priest,  after  leaving  the  theatre,  walked 
rapidly  down  Broadway  past  the  marble 
church,  that  had  been  shown  on  the  stage, 
and  still  straight  on  for  two  miles  at  the  same  rapid 
gait,  past  the  quiet  churchyards  of  St.  Paul's  and 
Trinity  into  the  comparative  silence  of  Battery  Park 
and  across  to  the  sea  wall.  There  he  leaned  for  half 
an  hour,  reliving  in  memory  not  only  the  years  since 
his'  seven-year  old  feet  had  crossed  this  threshold  of 
the  New  World,  but  recalling  something  of  his  still 
earlier  childhood  in  his  native  France.  The  child's 
song  had  been  an  excitant  to  the  memory  in  recalling 
those  first  years  in  Auvergne. 


"There  is  a  green  hill  far  away 
Without  a  city  wall." 


How  clearly  he  saw  that !  and  his  peasant  father 
and  mother  as  laborers  on  or  about  it,  and  himself, 
a  six-year  old,  tending  the  goats  on  that  same  green 
hill  or  minding  the  geese  in  the  meadows  at  its  foot. 

All  this  he  saw  as  he  gazed  blankly  at  the  dark 
waters  of  the  bay,  saw  clearly  as  if  visioned  in  crystal. 
But  of  subsequent  movings  and  wanderings  there  was 
a  blurred  reflection  only,  till  the  vision  momentarily 
brightened,  the  outlines  defined  themselves  again  as 
he  saw  his  tired  drowsy  self  put  to  bed  in  a  tiny  room 
that  was  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  newly  baked 


Flamsted  Quarries  17 

bread.  He  remembered  the  awakening  in  that  small 
room  over  a  bread-filled  shop;  it  belonged  to  a 
distant  great-uncle  baker  on  the  mother's  side,  a 
personage  in  the  family  because  in  trade.  He  could 
remember  the  time  spent  in  that  same  shop  and  the 
brick-walled,  brick-floored,  brick-ovened  room  behind 
it.  He  recalled  having  stood  for  hours,  it  might  have 
been  days,  he  could  not  remember  —  for  then  Time 
was  forever  and  its  passing  of  no  moment  —  before 
the  deep  ovens  with  a  tiny  blue-eyed  slip  of  a  girl. 
P'tite  Truile,  Little  Trout,  they  called  her,  the  great- 
uncle  baker's  one  grandchild. 

And  the  shop  —  he  remembered  that,  so  light  and 
bright  and  sweet  and  clean,  with  people  coming  and 
going  —  men  and  women  and  children  —  and  the  crisp 
yard-long  loaves  carried  away  in  shallow  baskets  on 
many  a  fine  Norman  head  in  the  old  seaport  of  Dieppe. 
And  always  the  Little  Trout  was  by  his  side,  even 
when  the  great-uncle  placed  him  in  one  of  the  huge 
flat-bottomed  bread  baskets  and  drew  the  two  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  shop.  Then  all  was  dim  again; 
so  dim  that  except  for  the  lap  and  backward  sucking  of 
the  waters  against  the  sea  wall,  whereon  he  leaned, 
he  had  scarcely  recalled  a  ship  at  the  old  pier  of  Dieppe, 
and  the  Little  Trout  standing  beside  her  grandfather 
on  the  stringer,  frantically  waving  her  hand  as  the  ship 
left  her  moorings  and  the  prow  nosed  the  first  heavy 
channel  sea  that  washed  against  the  bulkhead  and 
half-drowned  her  wailing  cry: 

"  Jean  —  mon  Jean !" 

The  rest  was  a  blank  until  he  landed  here  al 
most  on  this  very  spot  in  old  Castle  Garden  and, 
holding  hard  by  his  father's  hand,  was  bidden  to  look 
up  at  the  flag  flying  from  the  pole  at  the  top  of  the 


1 8  Flamsted  Quarries 

queer  round  building  —  a  brave  sight  even  for  his 
young  eyes:  all  the  red  and  white  and  blue  straining 
in  the  freshening  wind  with  an  energy  of  motion  that 
made  the  boy  dance  in  sympathetic  joy  at  his  father's 
side.  — • 

And  what  next? 

Again  a  confusion  of  journeyings,  and  afterwards 
quiet  settlement  in  a  red  brick  box  of  a  house  in  a 
mill  town  on  the  Merrimac.  He  could  still  hear  the 
clang  of  the  mill-gates,  the  ringing  of  the  bells,  the 
hum  and  whir  and  roar  of  a  hundred  thousand  spin 
dles,  the  clacking  crash  of  the  ponderous  shifting 
frames.  He  could  still  see  with  the  inner  eye  the  hun 
dreds  of  windows  blazing  in  the  reflected  fires  of  the 
western  sun,  or  twinkling  with  numberless  lights  that 
cast  their  long  reflections  on  the  black  waters  of  the 
canal.  There  on  the  bank,  at  the  entrance  to  the  foot 
bridge,  the  boy  was  wont  to  take  his  stand  regularly  at 
six  o'clock  of  a  winter's  day,  and  wait  for  the  hoisting  of 
the  mill-gates  and  the  coming  of  his  father  and  mother 
with  the  throng  of  toilers. 

So  he  saw  himself  —  himself  as  an  identity  emerg 
ing  at  last  from  the  confusion  of  time  and  place  and 
circumstance ;  for  there  followed  the  public  school,  the 
joys  of  rivalry,  the  eager  outrush  for  the  boy's  Ever 
New,  the  glory  of  scrimmage  and  school-boy  sports, 
the  battle  royal  for  the  little  Auvergnat  when  taunted 
with  the  epithet  "Johnny  Frog"  by  the  belligerent 
youth,  American  born,  and  the  victorious  outcome 
for  the  "foreigner";  the  Auvergne  blood  was  up,  and 
the  temperament  volcanic  like  his  native  soil  where 
subterranean  heats  evidence  themselves  in  hot,  out- 
welling  waters.  And  afterwards,  at  home,  there  were 
congratulations  and  comfortings,  plus  applications 


Flamsted  Quarries  19 

of  vinegar  and  brown  butcher's  paper  to  the  severely 
smitten  nose  of  this  champion  of  his  new  American- 
hood.  But  at  school  and  in  the  street,  henceforth 
there  was  due  respect  and  a  general  atmosphere  of 
"let  bygones  be  bygones." 

Ah,  but  the  pride  of  his  mother  in  her  boy's  progress ! 
the  joy  over  the  first  English-French  letter  that  went 
to  the  great-uncle  baker;  the  constant  toil  of  both 
parents  that  the  savings  might  be  sufficient  to  educate 
their  one  child  —  that  the  son  might  have  what  the 
parents  lacked.  Already  the  mother  had  begun  to 
speak  of  the  priesthood:  she  might  yet  see  her  son 
Jean  a  priest,  a  bishop,  and  archbishop.  Who  could 
tell?  America  is  America,  and  opportunities  infinite 
—  a  cardinal,  perhaps,  and  the  gift  of  a  red  hat  from 
the  Pope,  and  robes  and  laces !  There  was  no  end  to 
her  ambitious  dreaming. 

But  across  the  daydreams  fell  the  shadow  of  hard 
times:  the  shutting  down  of  the  mills,  the  father's 
desperate  illness  in  a  workless  winter,  his  death  in  the 
early  spring,  followed  shortly  by  that  of  the  worn-out 
and  ill-nourished  mother  —  and  for  the  twelve-year- 
old  boy  the  abomination  of  desolation,  and  world  and 
life  seen  dimly  through  tears.  Dim,  too,  from  the  like 
cause,  that  strange  passage  across  the  ocean  to  Dieppe 
-  his  mother's  uncle  having  sent  for  him  to  return  — 
a  weight  as  of  lead  in  his  stomach,  a  fiery  throbbing 
in  his  young  heart,  a  sickening  craving  for  some  ex 
pression  of  human  love.  The  boyish  tendrils,  although 
touched  in  truth  by  spring  frosts,  were  outreaching 
still  for  some  object  upon  which  to  fasten;  yet  he 
shrank  from  human  touch  and  sympathy  on  that 
voyage  in  the  steerage  lest  in  his  grief  and  loneliness 
he  scream  aloud. 


2O  Flamsted  Quarries 

Dieppe  again,  and  the  Little  Trout  with  her  grand 
father  awaiting  him  on  the  pier;  the  Little  Trout's 
arms  about  his  neck  in  loving  welcome,  the  boy's 
heart  full  to  bursting  and  his  eyelids  reddened  in  his 
supreme  effort  to  keep  back  tears.  Dependent,  an 
orphan,  and  destined  for  the  priesthood  —  those  were 
his  life  lines  for  the  next  ten  years.  And  the  end? 
Revolt,  rebellion,  partial  crime,  acquittal  under  the 
law,  but  condemnation  before  the  tribunal  of  his  con 
science  and  his  God. 

There  followed  the  longing  to  expiate,  to  expiate 
in  that  America  where  he  was  not  known  but  where 
he  belonged,  where  his  parents'  dust  mingled  with  the 
soil;  to  flee  to  the  Church  as  to  a  sanctuary  of  refuge, 
to  be  priest  through  expiation.  And  this  he  had  been 
for  years  while  working  among  the  Canadian  river- 
men,  among  the  lumbermen  of  Maine,  sharing  their 
lives,  their  toil,  their  joys  and  sorrows,  the  common 
inheritance  of  the  Human.  For  years  subsequent  to 
his  Canadian  mission,  and  after  his  naturalization 
as  an  American  citizen,  he  worked  in  town  and  city, 
among  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  recognizing  in  his 
catholicity  of  outlook  but  one  human  plane :  that  which 
may  be  tested  by  the  spirit  level  of  human  needs. 
Now,  at  last,  he  was  priest  by  conviction,  by  inner 
consecration. 

He  stood  erect;  drew  a  long  full  breath;  squared 
his  shoulders  and  looked  around  him.  He  noticed  for 
the  first  time  that  a  Staten  Island  ferryboat  had  moved 
into  the  slip  near  him;  that  several  passengers  were 
lingering  to  look  at  him ;  that  a  policeman  was  pacing 
behind  him,  his  eye  alert  —  and  he  smiled  to  himself, 
for  he  read  their  thought.  He  could  not  blame  them 
for  looking-  He  had  fancied  himself  alone  with  the 


Flamsted  Quarries  21 

sea  and  the  night  and  his  thoughts;  had  lost  himself 
to  his  present  surroundings  in  the  memory  of  those 
years ;  he  had  suffered  again  the  old  agony  of  passion, 
shame,  guilt,  while  the  events  of  that  pregnant,  pre 
paratory  period  in  France,  etched  deep  with  acid  burn 
ings  into  his  inmost  consciousness,  were  passing  during 
that  half  hour  in  review  before  his  inner  vision. 
Small  wonder  he  was  attracting  attention ! 

He  bared  his  head.  A  new  moon  was  sinking  to 
the  Highlands  of  the  Navesink.  The  May  night  was 
mild,  the  sea  breeze  drawing  in  with  gentle  vigor.  He 
looked  northwards  up  the  Hudson,  and  southwards 
to  the  Liberty  beacon,  and  eastwards  to  the  Sound. 
"God  bless  our  Land"  he  murmured;  then,  covering 
his  head,  bowed  courteously  to  the  policeman  and 
took  his  way  across  the  Park  to  the  uptown  elevated 
station. 

Yes,  at  last  he  dared  assert  it:  he  was  priest  by 
consecration;  soul,  heart,  mind,  body  dedicate  to  the 
service  of  God  through  Humanity.  That  service  led 
him  always  in  human  ways.  A  few  nights  ago  he 
saw  the  poster:  "The  Little  Patti  ".  A  child  then? 
Thought  bridged  the  abyss  of  ocean  to  the  Little 
Trout.  Some  rescue  work  for  him  here,  possibly; 
hence  his  presence  in  the  theatre. 


Ill 


r~l  ^HAT  the  priest's  effort  to  rescue  the  child 
from  the  artificial  life  of  the  stage  had  been 

J-  in  a  measure  successful,  was  confirmed  by 
the  presence,  six  months  later,  of  the  little  girl  in  the 
yard  of  the  Orphan  Asylum  on  nd  Street. 

On  an  exceptionally  dreary  afternoon  in  November, 
had  any  one  cared  to  look  over  the  high  board  fence 
that  bounds  three  sides  of  the  Asylum  yard,  he  might 
have  seen  an  amazing  sight  and  heard  a  still  more 
amazing  chorus: 

"Little  Sally  Waters 
Sitting  in  the  sun, 

Weeping  and  crying  for  a  young  man; 
Rise,  Sally,  rise,  Sally, 
Wipe  away  your  tears,  Sally; 
Turn  to  the  east 
And  turn  to  the  west, 
And  turn  to  the  one  that  you  love  best!" 

Higher  and  higher  the  voices  of  the  three  hundred 
orphans  shrilled  in  unison  as  the  owners  thereof  danced 
frantically  around  a  small  solitary  figure  in  the  middle 
of  the  ring  of  girls  assembled  in  the  yard  on  -  — nd 
Street.  Her  coarse  blue  denim  apron  was  thrown 
over  her  head;  her  face  was  bowed  into  her  hands 
that  rested  on  her  knees.  It  was  a  picture  of  woe. 

The  last  few  \vords  "you  love  best"  rose  to  a  shriek 
of  exhortation.  In  the  expectant  silence  that  followed, 


Flamsted  Quarries  23 

"Sally"  rose,  pirouetted  in  a  fashion  worthy  of  a  ballet 
dancer,  then,  with  head  down,  fists  clenched,  arms 
tight  at  her  sides,  she  made  a  sudden  dash  to  break 
through  the  encircling  wall  of  girls.  She  succeeded 
in  making  a  breach  by  knocking  the  legs  of  three  of 
the  tallest  out  from  under  them;  but  two  or  more 
dozen  arms,  octopus-like,  caught  and  held  her.  For 
a  few  minutes  chaos  reigned:  legs,  arms,  hands, 
fingers,  aprons,  heads,  stockings,  hair,  shoes  of  three 
hundred  orphans  were  seemingly  inextricably  en 
tangled.  A  bell  clanged.  The  three  hundred  disen 
tangled  themselves  with  marvellous  rapidity  and, 
settling  aprons,  smoothing  hair,  pulling  up  stockings 
and  down  petticoats,  they  formed  in  a  long  double 
line.  While  waiting  for  the  bell  to  ring  the  second 
warning,  they  stamped  their  feet,  blew  upon  their  cold 
fingers,  and  freely  exercised  their  tongues. 

•'Yer  dass  n't  try  that  again!"  said  the  mate  in 
line  with  the  obstreperous  "Sally"  who  had  so  scorned 
the  invitation  of  the  hundreds  of  girls  to  "turn  to  the 
one  that  she  loved  best ". 

"I  dass  ter!"  was  the  defiant  reply  accompanied 
by  the  protrusion  of  a  long  thin  tongue. 

"Yer  dass  n't  either!" 

"I  dass  t' either!" 

"Git  out!"  The  first  speaker  nudged  the  other's 
ribs  with  her  sharp  elbow. 

"Slap  yer  face  for  two  cents!"  shrieked  the  in 
sulted  "Sally",  the  Little  Patti  of  the  Vaudeville,  and 
proceeded  to  carry  out  her  threat.  Whereupon  Freckles, 
as  she  was  known  in  the  Asylum,  set  up  a  howl  that 
was  heard  all  along  the  line  and  turned  upon  her  an 
tagonist  tooth  and  nail.  At  that  moment  the  bell 
clanged  a  second  time.  A  hush  fell  upon  the  multi- 


24  Flamsted  Quarries 

tude,  broken  only  by  a  suppressed  shriek  that  came 
from  the  vicinity  of  Freckles.  A  snicker  ran  down  the 
line.  The  penalty  for  breaking  silence  after  the  second 
bell  was  "no  supper",  and  not  one  of  the  three  hun 
dred  cared  to  incur  that  —  least  of  all  Flibbertigibbet, 
the  "Sally"  of  the  game,  who  had  forfeited  her  dinner, 
because  she  had  been  caught  squabbling  at  morning 
prayers,  and  was  now  carrying  about  with  her  an  empty 
stomach  that  was  at  bottom  of  her  ugly  mood. 

"  One,  two  —  one,  two."  The  monitor  counted ; 
the  girls  fell  into  step,  all  but  Flibbertigibbet  —  the 
Asylum  nickname  for  the  "Little  Patti"  —  who  con 
trived  to  keep  out  just  enough  to  tread  solidly  with 
hobnailed  shoe  on  the  toes  of  the  long-suffering 
Freckles.  It  was  unbearable,  especially  the  last  time 
when  a  heel  was  set  squarely  upon  Freckles'  latest 
bunion. 

"Ou,  ou  —  oh,  au  —  wau!"  Freckles  moaned, 
limping. 

"Number  207  report  for  disorder,"  said  the  monitor. 

Flibbertigibbet  giggled.  Number  207  stepped  out  of 
the  line  and  burst  into  uncontrollable  sobbing;  for 
she  was  hungry,  oh,  so  hungry !  And  the  matron 
had  chalked  on  the  blackboard  "hot  corn-cakes  and 
molasses  for  Friday  ".  It  was  the  one  great  treat  of 
the  week.  The  girl  behind  Flibbertigibbet  hissed  in 
her  ear: 

"Yer  jest  pizen  mean;  dirt  ain't  in  it." 

A  back  kick  worthy  of  a  pack  mule  took  effect  upon 
the  whisperer's  shin.  Flibbertigibbet  moved  on  un 
molested,  underwent  inspection  at  the  entrance,  and 
passed  with  the  rest  into  the  long  basement  room 
which  was  used  for  meals. 

Freckles  stood  sniffing  disconsolately  by  the  door 


Flamsted  Quarries  25 

as  the  girls  filed  in.  She  was  meditating  revenge,  and 
advanced  a  foot  in  hope  that,  unseen,  she  might 
trip  her  tormentor  as  she  passed  her.  What,  then, 
was  her  amazement  to  see  Flibbertigibbet  shuffle  along 
deliberately  a  little  sideways  in  order  to  strike  the 
extended  foot !  This  manoeuvre  she  accomplished 
successfully  and  fell,  not  forward,  but  sideways  out 
of  line  and  upon  Freckles.  Freckles  pushed  her  off 
with  a  vengeance,  but  not  before  she  heard  a  gleeful 
whisper  in  her  ear : 

" Dry  up  —  watch  out  —  I'll  save  yer  some !" 
That  was  all;    but  to  Freckles  it  was  a  revelation. 
The  children  filed  between  the  long  rows  of  wooden 
benches,  that  served  for  seats,  and  the  tables.     They 
remained  standing  until  the  sister  in  charge  gave  the 
signal  to  be  seated.    When  the  three  hundred  sat  down 
as  one,  with  a  thud  of  something  more  than  fifteen 
tons'  weight,  there  broke  loose  a  Babel  of  tongues  — 
English  as  it  is  spoken  in  the  mouths  of  children  of 
many  nationalities. 

It  was  then  that  Freckles  began  to  "watch  out." 
Flibbertigibbet  sat  rigid  on  the  bench,  her  eyes 
turned  neither  to  right  nor  left  but  staring  straight 
at  the  pile  of  smoking  corn-meal  cakes  trickling 
molasses  on  her  tin  plate.  She  was  counting :  "  One, 
two,  three,  four,  five,"  and  the  prospect  of  more;  for 
on  treat  nights,  which  occurred  once  a  week,  there  was 
no  stinting  with  corn-meal  cakes,  hulled  corn,  apple 
sauce  with  fried  bread  or  whatever  else  might  be  pro 
vided  for  the  three  hundred  orphans  at  the  Asylum  on 

nd  Street,  in  the  great  city  of  New  York. 

Freckles  grew  nervous  as  she  watched.  What  was 
Flibbertigibbet  doing?  Her  fingers  were  busy  unty 
ing  the  piece  of  red  mohair  tape  with  which  her  heavy 


26  Flamsted   Quarries 

braid  was  fastened  in  a  neat  loop.  She  put  it  around 
her  apron,  tying  it  fast ;  then,  blousing  the  blue  denim 
in  front  to  a  pouch  like  a  fashion-plate  shirt  waist,  she 
said  in  an  undertone  to  her  neighbor  on  the  right : 

"  Gee  —  look  !    Ain't  I  got  the  style  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  look  at  yer,  yer  so  pizen  mean  — 
dirt  ain't  in  it,"  said  206  contemptuously,  and  sat  side 
ways  at  such  an  angle  that  she  could  eat  her  cakes 
without  seeing  the  eyesore  next  her. 

"Stop  crowdin'!"  was  the  next  command  from  the 
bloused  bit  of  "style"  to  her  neighbor  on  the  left. 
Her  sharp  elbow  emphasized  her  words  and  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  solid  thigh-to-thigh  pressure  that  was  felt 
for  the  length  of  at  least  five  girls  down  the  bench. 
The  neighbor  on  the  left  found  she  could  not  withstand 
the  continued  pressure.  She  raised  her  hand. 

"What  is  the  trouble  with  205?"  The  voice  from 
the  head  of  the  table  was  one  of  controlled  impatience. 

"Please  'um — ";  but  she  spoke  no  further  word, 
for  the  pressure  was  removed  so  suddenly  that  she  lost 
her  balance  and  careened  with  such  force  towards  her 
torment  of  a  neighbor  that  the  latter  was  fain  to  put 
her  both  arms  about  her  to  hold  her  up.  This  she  did 
so  effectually  that  205  actually  gasped  for  breath. 

"I'll  pinch  yer  black  an'  blue  if  yer  tell !"  whispered 
Flibbertigibbet,  relaxing  her  hold  and  in  turn  raising 
her  hand. 

"What's  wanting  now,  208?" 

"A  second  helpin',  please  'um." 

The  tin  round  was  passed  up  to  the  nickel-plated 
receptacle,  that  resembled  a  small  bathtub  with  a 
cover,  and  piled  anew.  Flibbertigibbet  viewed  its 
return  with  satisfaction,  and  Freckles,  who  had  been 
watching  every  move  of  this  by-play,  suddenly  doubled 


Flamsted  Quarries  27 

up  from  her  plastered  position  against  the  wall.  She 
saw  Flibbertigibbet  drop  the  cakes  quick  as  a  flash 
into  the  low  neck  of  her  apron,  and  at  that  very  minute 
they  were  reposing  in  the  paunch  of  the  blouse  and 
held  there  by  the  mohair  girdle.  Thereafter  a  truce 
was  proclaimed  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  208.  Her 
neighbors,  right  and  left,  their  backs  twisted  towards 
the  tease,  ate  their  portions  in  fear  and  trembling. 
After  a  while  2o8's  hand  went  up  again.  This  time  it 
waved  mechanically  back  and  forth  as  if  the  owner 
were  pumping  bucketfuls  of  water. 

"What  is  it  now,  208?"  The  voice  at  the  head  of 
the  table  put  the  question  with  a  note  of  exasperation 
in  it. 

"Please  'um,  another  helpin'." 

The  sister's  lips  set  themselves  close.  "Pass  up 
2o8's  plate,"  she  said.  The  empty  plate,  licked  clean 
of  molasses  on  the  sly,  went  up  the  line  and  re 
turned  laden  with  three  "bloomin'  beauties"  as  208 
murmured  serenely  to  herself.  She  ate  one  with  keen 
relish,  then  eyed  the  remaining  two  askance  and 
critically.  Freckles  grew  anxious.  What  next?  Con 
trary  to  all  rules  2o8's  head,  after  slowly  drooping 
little  by  little,  lower  and  lower,  dropped  finally  with  a 
dull  thud  on  the  edge  .of  the  table  and  a  force  that 
tipped  the  plate  towards  her.  Freckles  doubled  up 
again ;  she  had  seen  through  the  manreuvre :  the 
three  remaining  cakes  slid  gently  into  the  open  half- 
low  apron  neck  and  were  safely  lodged  with  the  other 
four. 

"  Number  208  sit  up  properly  or  leave  the  table." 

The  sister  spoke  peremptorily,  for  this  special  One 
Three-hundredth  was  her  daily,  almost  hourly,  thorn 
in  the  flesh.  The  table  stopped  eating  to  listen.  There 


28  Flamsted  Quarries 

was  a  low  moan  for  answer,  but  the  head  was  not 
lifted.  Number  206  took  this  opportunity  to  give  her 
a  dig  in  the  ribs,  and  Number  205  crowded  her  in  turn. 
To  their  amazement  there  was  no  response. 

"Number  208  answer  at  once." 

"Oh,  please,  'um,  I've  got  an  awful  pain  —  oo  — 
au  — ."  The  sound  was  low  but  piercing. 

"You  may  leave  the  table,  208,  and  go  up  to  the 
dormitory." 

208  rose  with  apparent  effort.  Her  hands  were 
clasped  over  the  region  where  hot  corn-meal  cakes  are 
said  to  lie  heavily  at  times.  Her  face  was  screwed 
into  an  expression  indicative  of  excruciating  inner 
torment.  As  she  made  her  way,  moaning  softly,  to  the 
farther  door  that  opened  into  the  cheerless  corridor, 
there  was  audible  a  suppressed  but  decided  giggle. 
It  proceeded  from  Freckles.  The  monitor  warned 
her,  but,  unheeding,  the  little  girl  giggled  again. 

A  ripple  of  laughter  started  down  the  three  tables, 
but  was  quickly  suppressed. 

"Number  207,"  said  the  much-tried  and  long- 
suffering  sister,  "you  have  broken  the  rule  when 
under  discipline.  Go  up  to  the  dormitory  and  don't 
come  down  again  to-night."  This  was  precisely  what 
Freckles  wanted.  She  continued  to  sniff,  however, 
as  she  left  the  room  with  seemingly  reluctant  steps. 
Once  the  door  had  closed  upon  her,  she  flew  up  the 
two  long  flights  of  stairs  after  Flibbertigibbet  whom 
she  found  at  the  lavatory  in  the  upper  dormitory, 
cleansing  the  inside  of  her  apron  from  molasses. 

Oh,  but  those  cakes  were  good,  eaten  on  the  broad 
window  sill  where  the  two  children  curled  themselves 
to  play  at  their  favorite  game  of  "making  believe 
about  the  Marchioness  " ! 


Flamsted  Quarries  29 

"  But  it 's  hot  they  be !"  Freckles'  utterance  was  thick 
owing  to  a  large  mouthful  of  cake  with  which  she  was 
occupied. 

"I  kept  'em  so  squeezin'  'em  against  my  stommick." 

"Where  the  pain  was?" 

"M-m,"  her  chum  answered  abstractedly.  Her  face 
was  flattened  against  the  window  in  order  to  see  what 
was  going  on  below,  for  the  electric  arc-light  at  the 
corner  made  the  street  visible  for  the  distance  of  a  block. 

"I've  dropped  a  crumb,"  said  Freckles  ruefully. 

"Pick  it  up  then,  or  yer'll  catch  it  —  Oh,  my !" 

"Wot?"  said  Freckles  who  was  on  her  hands  and 
knees  beneath  the  window  searching  for  the  crumb 
that  might  betray  them  if  found  by  one  of  the  sisters. 

"Git  up  here  quick  if  yer  want  to  see  —  it's  the 
Marchioness  an'  another  kid.  Come  on!"  she  cried 
excitedly,  pulling  at  Freckles'  long  arm.  The  two 
little  girls  knelt  on  the  broad  sill,  and  with  faces  pressed 
close  to  the  window-pane  gazed  and  whispered  and 
longed  until  the  electric  lights  were  turned  on  in  the 
dormitory  and  the  noise  of  approaching  feet  warned 
them  that  it  was  bedtime. 

Across  the  street  from  the  Asylum,  but  facing  the 
Avenue,  was  a  great  house  of  stone,  made  stately 
by  a  large  courtyard  closed  by  wrought-iron  gates. 
On  the  side  street  looking  to  the  Asylum,  the  win 
dows  in  the  second  story  had  carved  stone  balconies; 
these  were  filled  with  bright  blossoms  in  their  season 
and  in  winter  with  living  green.  There  was  plenty 
of  room  behind  the  balcony  flower-boxes  for  a  white 
Angora  cat  to  take  her  constitutional.  When  Flibber 
tigibbet  entered  the  Asylum  in  June,  the  cat  and  the 
flowers  were  the  first  objects  outside  its  walls  to  attract 
her  attention  and  that  of  her  chum,  Freckles.  It  was 


30  Flamsted  Quarries 

not  often  that  Freckles  and  her  mate  were  given,  or 
could  obtain,  the  chance  to  watch  the  balcony,  for  there 
were  so  many  things  to  do,  something  for  every  hour 
in  the  day :  dishes  to  wash,  beds  to  make,  corridors  to 
sweep,  towels  and  stockings  to  launder,  lessons  to  learn, 
sewing  and  catechism.  But  one  day  Flibbertigibbet 
—  so  Sister  Angelica  called  the  little  girl  from  her  first 
coming  to  the  Asylum,  and  the  name  clung  to  her  — 
was  sent  to  the  infirmary  in  the  upper  story  because 
of  a  slight  illness;  while  there  she  made  the  discovery 
of  the  "Marchioness."  She  called  her  that  because 
she  deemed  it  the  most  appropriate  name,  and  why 
" appropriate"  it  behooves  to  tell. 

Behind  the  garbage-house,  in  the  corner  of  the  yard 
near  the  railroad  tracks,  there  was  a  fine  place  to  talk 
over  secrets  and  grievances.  Moreover,  there  was  a 
knothole  in  the  high  wooden  fence  that  inclosed  the 
lower  portion  of  the  yard.  When  Flibbertigibbet  put 
her  eye  to  this  aperture,  it  fitted  so  nicely  that  she  could 
see  up  and  down  the  street  fully  two  rods  each  way. 
Generally  that  eye  could  range  from  butcher's  boy  to 
postman,  or  '  old  clothes'  man ;  but  one  day,  having 
found  an  opportunity,  she  placed  her  visual  organ  as 
usual  to  the  hole  —  and  looked  into  another  queer 
member  that  was  apparently  glued  to  the  other  side ! 
But  she  was  not  daunted,  oh,  no ! 

"Git  out!"  she  commanded  briefly. 

"I  ain't  in."    The  Eye  snickered. 

"I'll  poke  my  finger  into  yer!"  she  threatened 
further. 

"I'll  bite  your  banana  off,"  growled  the  Eye. 

"Yer  a  cross-eyed  Dago." 

"You're  another  —  you  Biddy!"  The  Eye  was 
positively  insulting;  it  winked  at  her. 


Flamsted  Quarries  3 1 

Flibbertigibbet  was  getting  worsted.  She  stamped 
her  foot  and  kicked  the  fence.  The  Eye  laughed  at 
her,  then  suddenly  vanished;  and  Flibbertigibbet  saw 
a  handsome-faced  Italian  lad  sauntering  up  the  street, 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  singing  —  oh,  how  he  sang ! 
The  little  girl  forgot  her  rage  in  listening  to  the  song, 
the  words  of  which  reminded  her  of  dear  Nonna  Lisa 
and  her  own  joys  of  a  four  weeks'  vagabondage  spent 
in  the  old  Italian's  company.  All  this  she  confessed  to 
Freckles ;  and  the  two,  under  one  pretence  or  another, 
managed  to  make  daily  visits  to  the  garbage  house 
knothole. 

That  hole  was  every  bit  as  good  as  a  surprise  party 
to  them.  The  Eye  was  seen  there  but  once  more,  when 
it  informed  the  other  Eye  that  it  belonged  to  Luigi 
Poggi,  Nonna  Lisa's  one  grandson;  that  it  was  off 
in  Chicago  with  a  vaudeville  troupe  while  the  other 
Eye  had  been  with  Nonna  Lisa.  But  instead  of  the 
Eye  there  appeared  a  stick  of  candy  twisted  in  a  paper 
and  thrust  through;  at  another  time  some  fresh  dates, 
strung  on  a  long  string,  were  found  dangling  on  the 
inner  side  of  the  fence  —  the  knothole  having  pro 
vided  the  point  of  entrance  for  each  date ;  once  a  small 
bunch  of  wild  flowers  graced  it  on  the  yard  side. 
Again,  for  three  months,  the  hole  served  for  a  circulat 
ing  library.  A  whole  story  found  lodgement  there,  a 
chapter  at  a  time,  torn  from  a  paper- covered  novel. 
Flibbertigibbet  carried  them  around  with  her  pinned 
inside  of  her  blue  denim  apron,  and  read  them  to 
Freckles  whenever  she  was  sure  of  not  being  caught. 
Luigi  was  their  one  boy  on  earth. 

The  Marchioness  of  Isola  Bella,  that  was  the  name 
of  the  story;  and  if  Flibbertigibbet  and  Freckles  on 
their  narrow  cots  in  the  bare  upper  dormitory  of  the 


32  Flamsted  Quarries 

Orphan  Asylum  on  nd  Street,  did  not  dream  of 

sapphire  lakes  and  snow-crowned  mountains,  of  marble 
palaces  and  turtledoves,  of  lovely  ladies  and  lordly  men, 
of  serenades  and  guitars  and  ropes  of  pearl,  it  was  not 
the  fault  either  of  Luigi  Poggi  or  the  Marchioness  of 
I  sola  Bella.  But  at  times  the  story-book  marchioness 
seemed  very  far  away,  and  it  was  a  happy  thought  of 
Flibbertigibbet's  to  name  the  little  lady  in  the  great 
house  after  her;  for,  once,  watching  at  twilight  from 
the  cold  window  seat  in  the  dormitory,  the  two  orphan 
children  saw  her  ladyship  dressed  for  a  party,  the 
maid  having  forgotten  to  lower  the  shades. 

Freckles  and  Flibbertigibbet  dared  scarcely  breathe; 
it  was  so  much  better  than  the  Marchioness  of  Isola 
Bella,  for  this  one  was  real  and  alive  —  oh,  yes,  very 
much  alive !  She  danced  about  the  room,  running 
from  the  maid  when  she  tried  to  catch  her,  and  when 
the  door  opened  and  a  tall  man  came  in  with  arms 
opened  wide,  the  real  Marchioness  did  just  what  the 
story-book  marchioness  did  on  the  last  page  to  her 
lover:  gave  one  leap  into  the  outstretched  arms  of  the 
father-lover. 

\Yhile  the  two  children  opposite  were  looking  with 
all  their  eyes  at  this  unexpected  denouement,  the  maid 
drew  the  shades,  and  Freckles  and  Flibbertigibbet  were 
left  to  stare  at  each  other  in  the  dark  and  cold.  Flib 
bertigibbet  nodded  and  whispered : 

"That  takes  the  cake.  The  Marchioness  of  Isola 
Bella  ain't  in  it!" 

Freckles  squeezed  her  hand.  Thereafter,  although 
the  girls  appreciated  the  various  favors  of  the  knot 
hole,  their  entire  and  passionate  allegiance  was  given 
to  the  real  Marchioness  across  the  wav. 


IV 


ONE  day,  it  was  just  after  Thanksgiving,  the 
Marchioness  discovered  her  opposite  neigh 
bors.  It  was  warm  and  sunny,  a  summer  day 
that  had  strayed  from  its  place  in  the  Year's  proces 
sion.  The  maid  was  putting  the  Angora  cat  out  on 
the  balcony  among  the  dwarf  evergreens.  The  Mar 
chioness  was  trying  to  help  her  when,  happening  to 
look  across  the  street,  the  saw  the  two  faces  at  the 
opposite  window.  She  stared  for  a  moment,  then  tak 
ing  the  cat  from  the  window  sill  held  her  up  for  the 
two  little  girls  to  see.  Flibbertigibbet  and  hef  mate 
nodded  vigorously  and  smiled,  making  motions  with 
their  hands  as  if  stroking  the  fur. 

The  Marchioness  dropped  the  cat  and  waved  her 
hand  to  them;  the  maid  drew  her  back  from  the 
window;  the  two  girls  saw  her  ladyship  twitch  away 
from  the  detaining  hand  and  stamp  her  foot. 

"Gee!"  said  Flibbertigibbet  under  her  breath, 
"she's  just  like  us." 

"Oh,  wot's  she  up  ter  now?"  Freckles  whispered. 

Truly,  any  sane  person  would  have  asked  that  ques 
tion.  The  Marchioness,  having  gained  her  point,  was 
standing  on  the  window  seat  by  the  open  window, 
which  was  protected  by  an  iron  grating,  and  making 
curious  motions  with  her  fingers  and  hands. 

"Is  she  a  luny?"  Freckles  asked  in  an  awed 
voice. 


34  Flamsted  Quarries 

Flibbertigibbet  was  gazing  fixedly  at  this  apparition 
and  made  no  reply.  After  watching  this  pantomime  a 
few  minutes,  she  spoke  slowly: 

" She's  one  of  the  dumb  uns;  I've  seen  'em." 

The  Marchioness  was  now  making  frantic  gestures 
towards  the  top  of  their  window.  She  was  laughing  too. 

"She's  a  lively  one  if  she  is  a  dumber,"  said  Freckles 
approvingly.  Flibbertigibbet  jumped  to  her  feet  and 
likewise  stood  on  the  window  sill. 

"  Gee !  She  wants  us  to  git  the  window  open  at  the 
top.  Here  —  pull!"  The  two  children  hung  their 
combined  weight  by  the  tips  of  their  fingers  from  the 
upper  sash,  and  the  great  window  opened  slowly  a 
few  inches;  then  it  stuck  fast.  But  they  both  heard 
the  gleeful  voice  of  their  opposite  neighbor  and  wel 
comed  the  sound. 

"I'm  talking  to  you  —  it's  the  only  way  I  can  —  the 
deaf  and  dumb  — 

The  maid  lifted  her  down,  struggling,  from  the 
window  seat,  and  they  heard  the  childish  voice  scold 
ing  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  them. 

Flibbertigibbet  set  immediately  about  earning  the 
right  to  learn  the  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet;  she  hung 
out  all  monitor  Number  Twelve's  washing  —  dish 
towels,  stockings,  handkerchiefs  —  every  other  day  for 
two  weeks  in  the  bitter  December  weather.  She  knew 
that  this  special  monitor  had  a  small  brother  in  the 
Asylum  for  Deaf  Mutes;  this  girl  taught  her  the 
strange  language  in  compensation  for  the  child's  time 
and  labor.  It  was  mostly  "give  and  take"  in  the 
Asylum. 

"That  child  has  been  angelic  lately;  I  don't  know 
what's  going  to  happen."  Long-suffering  Sister  Agatha 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 


Flamsted  Quarries  35 

"Oh,  there  is  a  storm  brewing  you  may  be  sure; 
this  calm  is  unnatural,"  Sister  Angelica  replied,  smil 
ing  at  sight  of  the  little  figure  in  the  yard  dancing 
in  the  midst  of  an  admiring  circle  of  blue-nosed  girls. 
"  I  believe  they  would  rather  stand  and  watch  her  than 
to  run  about  and  get  warm.  She  is  as  much  fun  for 
them  as  a  circus,  and  she  learns  so  quickly !  Have 
you  noticed  her  voice  in  chapel  lately?" 

"Yes,  I  have";  said  Sister  Agatha  grumpily,  "and  I 
confess  I  can't  bear  to  hear  her  sing  like  an  angel  when 
she  is  such  a  little  fiend." 

Sister  Angelica  smiled.  "Oh,  I'm  sure  she'll  come 
out  all  right;  there's  nothing  vicious  about  her,  and 
she's  a  loyal  little  soul,  you  can't  deny  that." 

"Yes,  to  those  she  loves,"  Sister  Agatha  answered 
with  some  bitterness.  She  knew  she  was  no  favorite 
with  the  subject  under  discussion.  "  See  her  now !  I 
should  n't  think  she  would  have  a  whole  bone  left  in 
her  body." 

They  were  playing  "  Snap-the-whip ".  Flibberti 
gibbet  was  the  snapper  for  a  line  of  twenty  or  more 
girls.  As  she  swung  the  circle  her  legs  flew  so  fast  they 
fairly  twinkled,  and  her  hops  and  skips  were  a  marvel 
to  onlookers.  But  she  landed  right  side  up  at  last, 
although  breathless,  her  long  braid  unloosened,  hair 
tossing  on  the  wind,  cheeks  red  as  American  beauty 
roses,  and  gray  eyes  black  with  excitement  of  the  game. 
Then  the  bell  rang  its  warning,  the  children  formed 
in  line  and  marched  in  to  lessons. 

The  two  weeks  in  December  in  which  Flibberti 
gibbet  had  given  herself  to  the  acquisition  of  the  new 
language,  proved  long  for  the  Marchioness.  Every 
day  she  watched  at  the  window  for  the  reappearance 
of  the  two  children  at  the  bare  upper  window  opposite ; 


36  Flamsted  Quarries 

but  thus  far  in  vain.  However,  on  the  second  Satur 
day  after  their  first  across-street  meeting,  she  saw  to  her 
great  joy  the  two  little  girls  curled  up  on  the  window 
sill  and  frantically  waving  to  attract  her  attention. 
The  Marchioness  nodded  and  smiled,  clapped  her 
hands,  and  mounted  upon  her  own  broad  window  seat  in 
order  to  have  an  unobstructed  view  over  the  iron  grating. 

"She  sees  us,  she  sees  us!"  Freckles  cried  excitedly, 
but  under  her  breath;  "now  let 's  begin." 

Flibbertigibbet  chose  one  of  the  panes  that  was 
cleaner  than  the  others  and  putting  her  two  hands 
close  to  it  began  operations.  The  Marchioness  fairly 
hopped  up  and  down  with  delight  when  she  saw  the 
familiar  symbols  of  the  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet,  and 
immediately  set  her  own  small  white  hands  to  work 
on  her  first  sentence : 

"  Go  slow." 

Flibbertigibbet  nodded  emphatically;  the  conversa 
tion  was  begun  again  and  continued  for  half  an  hour. 
It  was  in  truth  a  labor  as  well  as  a  work  of  love.  The 
spelling  in  both  cases  was  far  from  perfect  and,  at 
times,  puzzling  to  both  parties ;  but  little  by  little  they 
became  used  to  each  other's  erratic  symbols  together 
with  the  queer  things  for  which  they  stood,  and  no 
conversation  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  New 
York  —  yes,  even  of  our  United  States  —  was  ever 
more  enjoyed  than  by  these  three  girls.  Flibbertigibbet 
and  the  Marchioness  did  the  finger-talking,  and 
Freckles  helped  with  the  interpretation.  In  the  follow 
ing  translation  of  this  first  important  exchange  of 
social  courtesies,  the  extremely  peculiar  spelling,  and 
wild  combinations  of  vowels  in  particular,  are  omitted ; 
but  the  questions  and  answers  are  given  exactly  as  they 
were  constructed  by  the  opposite  neighbors. 


Flamsted  Quarries  37 

"Go  slow."  This  as  a  word  of  warning  from  the 
Marchioness. 

"You  bet." 

"Isn't  this  fun?" 

"Beats  the  band." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

Flibbertigibbet  and  her  chum  looked  at  each  other; 
should  it  be  nickname  or  real  name  ?  As  they  were  at 
present  in  society  and  much  on  their  dignity  they  de 
cided  to  give  their  real  names. 

"Aileen  Armagh."  Thereupon  Flibbertigibbet  beat 
upon  her  breast  to  indicate  first  person  singular  pos 
sessive.  The  Marchioness  stared  at  her  for  a  minute, 
then  spelled  rather  quickly: 

"It's  lovely.    We  call  you  something  else." 

"Who's  we?" 

"Aunt  Ruth  and  I." 

"What  do  you  call  me?" 

"Flibbertigibbet." 

"Git  off!"  cried  Flibbertigibbet,  recklessly  shoving 
Freckles  on  to  the  floor.  "Gee,  how'd  she  know!" 
And  thereupon  she  jumped  to  her  feet  and,  having  the 
broad  window  sill  to  herself,  started  upon  a  rather  re 
stricted  coon  dance  in  order  to  prove  to  her  opposite 
neighbor  that  the  nickname  belonged  to  her  by  good 
right.  Oh,  but  it  was  fun  for  the  Marchioness !  She 
clapped  her  hands  to  show  her  approval  and  catching 
up  the  skirt  of  her  dainty  white  frock,  slowly  raised 
one  leg  at  a  right  angle  to  her  body  and  stood  so  for  a 
moment,  to  the  intense  admiration  of  the  other  girls. 

"That's  what  they  call  me  here,"  said  Flibberti 
gibbet  when  they  got  down  to  conversation  again. 

"What  is  hers?"  asked  the  Marchioness,  pointing 
to  Freckles. 


38  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Margaret  O'Dowd,  but  we  call  her  Freckles." 

How  the  Marchioness  laughed !  So  hard,  indeed, 
that  she  apparently  tumbled  off  the  seat,  for  she  dis 
appeared  entirely  for  several  minutes,  much  to  the 
girls'  amazement  as  well  as  chagrin. 

"It's  like  she  broke  somethin',"  whimpered  Freckles; 
"a  bone  yer  know  —  her  nose  fallin'  that  way  when 
she  went  over  forrard." 

"She  ain't  chany,  I  tell  yer;  she's  jest  Injy  rubber," 
said  Flibbertigibbet  scornfully  but  with  a  note  of 
anxiety  in  her  voice.  At  this  critical  moment  the 
Marchioness  reappeared  and  jumped  upon  the  seat. 
She  had  a  curious  affair  in  her  hand;  after  placing  it 
to  her  eyes,  she  signalled  her  answer: 

"I  can  see  them." 

"See  what?" 

"The  freckles." 

"Wot's  she  givin'  us?"  Freckles  asked  in  a  per 
plexed  voice. 

"She's  all  right,"  said  Flibbertigibbet  with  the 
confidence  of  superior  knowledge;  "it's  a  tel'scope; 
yer  can  see  the  moon  through,  an'  yer  freckles  look  to 
her  as  big  as  pie-plates." 

Freckles  crossed  herself;  it  sounded  like  witches 
and  it  had  a  queer  look. 

"Ask  her  wot's  her  name,"  she  suggested. 

"What's  your  name?"  Flibbertigibbet  repeated  on 
her  fingers. 

"Alice  Maud  Mary  Van  Ostend." 

"Gee  whiz,  ain't  that  a  corker!"  Flibbertigibbet 
exclaimed  delightedly.  "How  old  are  you?"  She 
proceeded  thus  with  her  personal  investigation  prompted 
thereto  by  Freckles. 

"  Most  ten ;  —  you  ?  " 


Flamsted  Quarries  39 

"Most  twelve." 

"And  Freckles?"  The  Marchioness  laughed  as 
she  spelled  the  name. 

"Eleven." 

"Ask  her  if  she's  an  orphant,"  said  Freckles. 

"Are  you  an  orphan,  Freckles  says." 

"Half,"  came  the  answer.     "What  are  you?" 

"Whole,"  was  the  reply.     "Which  is  your  half?" 

"  I  have  only  papa  —  I  '11  introduce  him  to  you 
sometime  when  — 

This  explanation  took  fully  five  minutes  to  decipher, 
and  while  they  were  at  work  upon  it  the  maid  came 
up  behind  the  Marchioness  and,  without  so  much  as 
saying  "By  your  leave  ",  took  her  down  struggling  from 
the  window  seat  and  drew  the  shades.  Whereupon 
Flibbertigibbet  rose  in  her  wrath,  shook  her  fist  at  the 
insulting  personage,  and  vowed  vengeance  upon  her 
in  her  own  forceful  language: 

"You're  an  old  cat,  and  I'll  rub  your  fur  the  wrong 
way  till  the  sparks  fly." 

At  this  awful  threat  Freckles  looked  alarmed,  and 
suddenly  realized  that  she  was  shivering,  the  result  of 
sitting  so  long  against  the  cold  window.  "Come  on 
down,"  she  pleaded  with  the  enraged  Flibbertigibbet; 
and  by  dint  of  coaxing  and  the  promise  of  a  green 
woollen  watch-chain,  which  she  had  patiently  woven, 
and  so  carefully,  with  four  pins  and  an  empty  spool 
till  it  looked  like  a  green  worm,  she  succeeded  in  get 
ting  her  away  from  the  dormitory  window. 


IF  the  Marchioness  of  Isola  Bella  had  filled  many 
of  Flibbertigibbet's  dreams  during  the  last  six 
months,  the  real  Alice  Maud  Mary  Van  Ostend 
now  rilled  all  her  waking  hours.  Her  sole  thought  was 
to  contrive  opportunities  for  more  of  this  fascinating 
conversation,  and  she  and  Freckles  practised  daily  on 
the  sly  in  order  to  say  more,  and  quickly,  to  the  real 
Marchioness  across  the  way. 

By  good  luck  they  were  given  a  half-hour  for  them 
selves  just  before  Christmas,  in  reward  for  the  con 
scientious  manner  in  which  they  made  bedsr  washed 
dishes,  and  recited  their  lessons  for  an  entire  week. 
When  Sister  Angelica,  laying  her  hand  on  Flibberti 
gibbet's  shoulder,  had  asked  her  what  favor  she  wanted 
for  the  good  work  of  that  week,  the  little  girl  answered 
promptly  enough  that  she  would  like  to  sit  with  Freckles 
in  the  dormitory  window  and  look  out  on  the  street,  for 
maybe  there  might  be  a  hurdy-gurdy  with  a  monkey 
passing  through. 

"Not  this  cold  day,  I'm  sure,"  said  Sister  Angelica, 
smiling  at  the  request;  "for  no  monkey  could  be  out 
in  this  weather  unless  he  had  an  extra  fur  coat  and  a 
hot  water  bottle  for  his  toes.  Yes,  you  may  go,  but 
don't  stay  too  long  in  the  cold." 

But  what  if  the  Marchioness  were  to  fail  to  make 
her  appearance !  They  could  not  bear  to  think  of  this, 
and  amused  themselves  for  a  little  while  by  blowing 
upon  the  cold  panes  and  writing  their  names  and  the 


Flamsted  Quarries  41 

Marchioness'  in  the  vapor.  But,  at  last  —  oh,  at 
last,  there  she  was !  The  fingers  began  to  talk  almost 
before  they  knew  it.  In  some  respects  it  proved  to  be 
a  remarkable  conversation,  for  it  touched  upon  many 
and  various  topics,  all  of  which  proved  of  equal  interest 
to  the  parties  concerned.  They  lost  no  time  in  setting 
about  the  exchange  of  their  views. 

"I'm  going  to  a  party,"  the  Marchioness  announced, 
smoothing  her  gown. 

"What  time?" 

"Five  o'clock,  but  I'm  all  ready.  I  am  going  to 
dance  a  minuet." 

This  was  a  poser;  but  Flibbertigibbet  did  not  wish 
to  be  outdone,  although  there  was  no  party  for  her  in 
prospect. 

"I  can  dance  too,"  she  signalled. 

"I  know  you  can  —  lovely;  that's  why  I  told  you." 

"I  wish  I  could  see  you  dance  the  minute." 

The  Marchioness  did  not  answer  at  once.  Finally 
she  spelled  "Wait  a  minute,"  jumped  down  from  the 
broad  sill  and  disappeared.  In  a  short  time  she  was 
back  again. 

"I'm  going  to  dance  for  you.  Look  downstairs  — 
when  it  is  dark  —  and  you'll  see  the  drawing-room 
lighted  —  I'll  dance  near  the  windows." 

The  two  girls  clapped  their  hands  and  Flibberti 
gibbet  jumped  up  and  down  on  the  window  sill  to 
express  her  delight. 

"When  do  you  have  to  go  to  bed?"  was  the  next 
pointed  question  from  Alice  Maud  Mary. 

"A  quarter  to  eight." 

"Who  puts  you  in?" 

This  was  another  poser  for  even  Flibbertigibbet's 
quick  wits. 


42  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Wot  does  she  mane?"  Freckles  demanded 
anxiously. 

"I  dunno;  anyhow,  I'll  tell  her  the  sisters." 

"The  sisters,"  was  the  word  that  went  across  the 
street. 

"Oh,  how  nice !  Do  you  say  your  prayers  to  them 
too?" 

Freckles  groaned.  "Wot  yer  goin'  to  tell  her 
now?" 

"  Shut  up  now  till  yer  hear  me,  an'  cross  yerself,  for 
I  mane  it."  Such  was  the  warning  from  her  mate. 

"No;  I  say  them  to  another  lady  —  Our  Lady." 

"Oh  gracious!"  Freckles  cried  out  under  her 
breath  and  began  to  snicker. 

"What  lady?"  The  Marchioness  looked  astonished 
but  intensely  interested. 

"The  Holy  Virgin.  I'll  bet  she  don't  know  nothin' 
'bout  Her,"  said  Flibbertigibbet  in  a  triumphant  aside 
to  Freckles.  The  Marchioness'  eyes  opened  wider  upon 
the  two  children  across  the  way. 

"That  is  the  mother  of  Our  Lord,  isn't  it?"  she 
said  in  her  dumb  way.  The  two  children  nodded; 
no  words  seemed  to  come  readily  just  then,  for  Alice 
Maud  Mary  had  given  them  a  surprise.  They  crossed 
themselves. 

"I  never  thought  of  saying  my  prayers  to  His 
mother  before,  but  I  shall  now.  He  always  had  a 
mother,  hadn't  he?" 

Flibbertigibbet  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  in 
answer,  but  she  did  the  next  best  thing:  she  drew  her 
rosary  from  under  her  dress  waist  and  held  it  up  to 
the  Marchioness  who  nodded  understandingly  and 
began  to  fumble  at  her  neck.  In  a  moment  she  brought 
forth  a  tiny  gold  chain  with  a  little  gold  cross  hanging 


Flamsted  Quarries  43 

from  it.    She  held  it  up  and  dangled  it  before  the  four 
astonished  eyes  opposite. 

"  Gee !  Yer  can't  git  ahead  of  her,  an'  I  ain't  goin' 
to  try.  She's  just  a  darlint."  Flibbertigibbet's  heart 
was  very  full  and  tender  at  that  moment;  but  she 
giggled  at  the  next  question. 

"Do  you  know  any  boys?" 

One  finger  was  visible  at  the  dormitory  window. 
The  Marchioness  laughed  and  after  telling  them  she 
knew  ever  so  many  began  to  count  on  her  fingers  for 
the  benefit  of  her  opposite  neighbors. 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,"  she  began  on  her  right 
hand  - 

"I  don't  believe  her,"  said  Freckles  with  a  sus 
picious  sniff. 

Flibbertigibbet  turned  fiercely  upon  her.  "  I  'd 
believe  her  if  she  said  she  knew  a  thousand,  so  now, 
Margaret  O'Dowd,  an'  yer  hold  yer  tongue!"  she 
cried;  but  in  reprimanding  Freckles  for  her  want  of 
faith  she  lost  count  of  the  boys. 

"I  must  go  now,"  said  the  Marchioness;  "but  when 
the  drawing-room  downstairs  is  lighted,  you  look  in  — 
there'll  be  one  boy  there  to  dance  with  me.  Be  sure 
you  look."  Suddenly  the  Marchioness  made  a  sign 
that  both  girls  understood,  although  it  was  an  extra 
one  and  the  very  prettiest  of  all  in  the  deaf-and-dumb 
alphabet  of  the  affections:  she  put  her  fingers  to  her 
lips  and  blew  them  a  kiss. 

"Ain't  she  a  darlint!"  murmured  Flibbertigibbet, 
tossing  the  same  sign  across  the  street.  When  the 
Marchioness  had  left  the  window,  the  two  girls  spent 
the  remaining  minutes  of  their  reward  in  planning  how 
best  to  see  the  dance  upon  which  they  had  set  their 
hearts.  They  thought  of  all  the  places  available,  but 


44  Flamsted  Quarries 

were  sure  they  would  not  be  permitted  to  occupy  them. 
At  last  Flibbertigibbet  decided  boldly,  on  the  strength 
of  a  good  conscience  throughout  one  whole  week,  to 
ask  at  headquarters. 

"I'm  goin'  straight  to  Sister  Angelica  an'  ask  her  to 
let  us  go  into  the  chapel;  it's  the  only  place.  Yer  can 
see  from  the  little  windy  in  the  cubby-hole  where  the 
priest  gits  into  his  other  clothes." 

Freckles  looked  awestruck.  "She'll  never  let  yer  go 
in  there." 

Her  mate  snapped  her  fingers  in  reply,  and  catch 
ing  Freckles'  hand  raced  her  down  the  long  dormitory, 
down  the  two  long  flights  of  stairs  to  the  schoolroom 
where  Sister  Angelica  was  giving  a  lesson  to  the 
younger  girls. 

"Well,  Flibbertigibbet,  what  is  it  now?"  said  the 
sister  smiling  into  the  eager  face  at  her  elbow.  When 
Sister  Angelica  called  her  by  her  nickname  instead  of 
by  the  Asylum  number,  Flibbertigibbet  knew  she  was 
in  high  favor.  She  nudged  Freckles  and  replied : 

"I  want  to  whisper  to  you." 

Sister  Angelica  bent  down;  before  she  knew  it  the 
little  girl's  arms  were  about  her  neck  and  the  child  was 
telling  her  about  the  dance  at  the  stone  house  across 
the  way.  The  sister  smiled  as  she  listened  to  the  rush 
of  eager  words,  but  she  was  so  glad  to  find  this  mad 
cap  telling  her  openly  her  heart's  one  desire,  that  she 
did  what  she  had  never  done  before  in  all  her  life  of 
beautiful  child-consecrated  work:  she  said  ''Yes,  and 
I  will  go  with  you.  Wait  for  me  outside  the  chapel 
door  at  half-past  four." 

Flibbertigibbet  squeezed  her  around  the  neck  with 
such  grateful  vigor  that  the  blood  rushed  to  poor  Sister 
Angelica's  head.  She  wras  willing,  however,  to  be  a 


Flamsted  Quarries  45 

martyr  in  such  a  good  cause.  The  little  girl  walked 
quietly  to  the  door,  but  when  it  had  closed  upon  her 
she  executed  a  series  of  somersaults  worthy  of  the 
Madison  Square  Garden  acrobats.  "What'd  I  tell 
yer,  what'd  I  tell  yer!"  she  exclaimed,  pirouetting 
and  somersaulting  till  the  slower-moving  Freckles  was 
a  trifle  dizzy. 

Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  three  were  snugly 
ensconced  in  the  window  niche  of  the  "cubby-hole," 
so  Flibbertigibbet  termed  the  robing-room  closet,  and 
looking  with  all  their  eyes  across  the  street.  They 
were  directly  opposite  what  Sister  Angelica  said  must 
be  the  drawing-room  and  on  a  level  with  it.  As  they 
looked,  one  moment  the  windows  were  dark,  in  the  next 
they  were  filled  with  soft  yet  brilliant  lights.  The  lace 
draperies  were  parted  and  the  children  could  see  down 
the  length  of  the  room. 

There  she  was !  Hopping  and  skipping  by  the  side 
of  her  father-lover  and  drawing  him  to  the  central 
window.  Behind  them  came  the  lovely  young  lady 
and  the  Boy !  The  two  were  holding  hands  and  swing 
ing  them  freely  as  they  laughed  and  chatted  together. 

"That's  the  Boy!"  cried  Flibbertigibbet,  wild  with 
excitement. 

"  And  that  must  be  the  Aunt  Ruth  she  told  about  — 
oh,  ain't  she  just  lovely !"  cried  Freckles. 

"Watch  out  now,  an'  yer '11  see  the  minute!"  said 
Flibbertigibbet,  squeezing  Sister  Angelica's  hand ;  Sister 
Angelica  squeezed  back,  but  kept  silence.  She  was 
learning  many  things  before  unknown  to  her.  The 
four  came  to  the  middle  window  and  looked  out, 
up,  and  all  around.  But  although  the  two  children 
waved  their  hands  wildly  to  attract  their  attention, 
the  good  people  opposite  failed  to  see  them  because 


46  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  little  window  suffered  eclipse  in  the  shadow  of  the 
large  electric  arc-light's  green  cap. 

"She's  goin'  to  begin!"  cried  Flibbertigibbet,  clap 
ping  her  hands. 

The  young  lady  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began  to 
play.  Whether  Flibbertigibbet  expected  a  variation 
of  a  "coon  dance"  or  an  Irish  jig  cannot  be  stated 
with  certainty,  but  that  she  was  surprised  is  a  fact ;  so 
surprised,  indeed,  that  for  full  two  minutes  she  forgot 
to  talk.  To  the  slow  music,  for  such  it  was  —  Flib 
bertigibbet  beat  time  with  her  fingers  on  the  pane  to 
the  step  —  the  Marchioness  and  the  Boy,  pointing  their 
daintily  slippered  feet,  moved  up  and  down,  back  and 
forth,  swinging,  turning,  courtesying,  bowing  over  the 
parquet  floor  with  such  childishly  stately  yet  charming 
grace  that  their  rhythmic  motions  were  as  a  song  with 
out  words. 

The  father-lover  stood  with  his  back  to  the  mantel 
and  applauded  after  an  especially  well  executed  flourish 
or  courtesy;  Aunt  Ruth  looked  over  her  shoulder, 
smiling,  her  hands  wandering  slowly  over  the  keys. 
At  last,  the  final  flourish,  the  final  courtesy.  The  Mar 
chioness'  dress  fairly  swept  the  floor,  and  the  Boy 
bowed  so  low  that  —  well,  Flibbertigibbet  never  could 
tell  how  it  happened,  but  she  had  a  warm  place  in  her 
heart  for  that  boy  ever  after  —  he  quietly  and  method 
ically  stood  head  downwards  on  his  two  hands,  his  white 
silk  stockings  and  patent  leathers  kicking  in  the  air. 

The  Marchioness  was  laughing  so  hard  that  she  sat 
down  in  a  regular  "cheese"  on  the  floor;  the  father 
lover  was  clapping  his  hands  like  mad ;  the  lady  swung 
round  on  the  piano  stool  and  shook  her  forefinger  at 
the  Boy  who  suddenly  came  right  side  up  at  last,  hand 
on  his  heart,  and  bowed  with  great  dignity  to  the  little 


Flamsted  Quarries  47 

girl  on  the  floor.  Then  he,  too,  laughed  and  cut  an 
other  caper  just  as  a  solemn-faced  butler  came  in  with 
wraps  and  furs.  But  by  no  means  did  he  remain 
solemn  long !  How  could  he  with  the  Boy  prancing 
about  him,  and  the  Marchioness  playing  at  "Catch- 
me-if-you-can "  with  her  father-lover,  and  the  lady 
slipping  and  sliding  over  the  floor  to  catch  the  Boy 
who  was  always  on  the  other  side  of  the  would-be 
solemn  butler?  Why,  he  actually  swung  round  in  a 
circle  by  holding  on  to  that  butler's  dignified  coat-tails  ! 

Nor  were  they  the  only  ones  who  laughed.  Across 
the  way  in  one  of  the  Orphan  Asylum  windows,  Sister 
Angelica  and  the  children  laughed  too,  in  spirit  join 
ing  in  the  fun,  and  when  the  butler  came  to  the  window 
to  draw  the  shades  there  were  three  long  "Ah's,"  both 
of  intense  disappointment  and  supreme  satisfaction. 

"Watch  out,  now,"  said  Flibbertigibbet  excitedly  on 
the  way  down  into  the  basement  for  supper  and  dish 
washing,  for  it  was  their  turn  this  week,  "an'  yer'll  see 
me  dance  yer  a  minute  in  the  yard  ter-morrow." 

"  Yer  can't  dance  it  alone,"  replied  doubting  Freckles; 
"yer've  got  to  have  a  boy." 

"I  don't  want  one;  I'll  take  you,  Freckles,  for  a 
boy."  Clumsy  Freckles  blushed  with  delight  beneath 
her  many  beauty-spots  at  such  promise  of  unwonted 
graciousness  on  the  part  of  her  chum,  and  wondered 
what  had  come  over  Flibbertigibbet  lately. 

A  few  hours  afterwards  when  they  went  up  to  bed, 
they  whispered  together  again  concerning  the  dance, 
and  begged  Sister  Angelica  to  let  them  have  just  one 
peep  from  the  dormitory  window  at  their  house  of 
delight  —  a  request  she  was  glad  to  grant.  They 
opened  one  of  the  inside  blinds  a  little  way,  and  ex- 


48  Flamsted  Quarries 

claimed  at  the  sight.  It  was  snowing.  The  children 
oh'ed  and  ah'ed  under  their  breath,  for  a  snowstorm 
at  Christmas  time  in  the  great  city  is  the  child's  true 
joy.  At  their  opposite  neighbor's  a  faint  light  was 
visible  in  the  balcony  room;  the  wet  soft  flakes  had 
already  ridged  the  balustrade,  powdered  the  dwarf 
evergreens,  topped  the  cap  of  the  electric  arc-light 
and  laid  upon  the  concrete  a  coverlet  of  purest  white. 

The  long  bare  dormitory  filled  with  the  children  — 
the  fatherless  and  motherless  children  we  have  always 
with  us.  Soon  each  narrow  cot  held  its  asylum 
number;  the  many  heads,  golden,  brown,  or  black, 
busied  all  of  them  with  childhood's  queer  unanchored 
thoughts,  were  pillowed  in  safety  for  another  night. 

And  without  the  snow  continued  to  fall  upon  the 
great  city.  It  graced  with  equal  delicacy  the  cathe 
dral's  marble  spires  and  the  forest  of  pointed  firs 
which  made  the  numberless  Christmas  booths  that 
surrounded  old  Washington  Market.  It  covered  im 
partially,  and  with  as  pure  a  white,  the  myriad  city 
roofs  that  sheltered  saint  and  sinner,  whether  among 
the  rich  or  the  poor,  among  the  cherished  or  castaways. 
It  fell  as  thickly  upon  the  gravestones  in  Trinity's 
ancient  churchyard  as  upon  the  freshly  turned  earth 
in  a  corner  of  the  paupers'  burying  ground ;  and  it 
set  upon  black  corruption  wherever  it  was  in  evidence 
the  seal  of  a  transient  stainlessness. 


VI 

REALLY,  I  am  discouraged  about  that  child," 
said  Sister  Agatha  just  after  Easter.  She 
was  standing  at  one  of  the  schoolroom 
windows  that  overlooked  the  yard;  she  spoke  as  if 
thoroughly  vexed, 

"What  is  it  now  —  208  again?"  Sister  Angelica 
looked  up  from  the  copybook  she  was  correcting. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course;  it's  always  208." 

"Oh,  she  doesn't  mean  anything;  it's  only  her  high 
spirits;  they  must  have  some  vent." 

"It's  been  her  ruin  being  on  the  stage  even  for  those 
few  weeks,  and  ever  since  the  Van  Ostends  began  to 
make  of  her  and  have  her  over  for  that  Christmas 
luncheon  and  the  Sunday  nights,  the  child  is  neither 
to  have  nor  to  hold.  What  with  her  'make  believing' 
and  her  '  acting '  she  upsets  the  girls  generally.  She 
ought  to  be  set  to  good  steady  work ;  the  first  chance 
I  get  I'll  put  her  to  it.  I  only  wish  some  one  would 
adopt  her  — 

"I  heard  Father  Honore  — " 

"Look  at  her  now!"  exclaimed  Sister  Agatha  in 
terrupting  her. 

Sister  Angelica  joined  her  at  the  window.  They 
could  not  only  see  but  hear  all  that  was  going  on  below. 
With  the  garbage  house  as  a  stage-setting  and  back 
ground  to  the  performance,  Flibbertigibbet  was  court- 
esying  low  to  her  audience;  the  skirt  of  her  scant 


50  Flamsted  Quarries 

gingham  dress  was  held  in  her  two  hands  up  and  out 
to  its  full  extent.  The  orphans  crouched  on  the  pave 
ment  in  a  triple  semi-circle  in  front  of  her. 

"All  this  rigmarole  comes  of  the  theatre,"  said  Sister 
Agatha  grimly. 

"Well,  where's  the  harm?  She  is  only  living  it  all 
over  again  and  giving  the  others  a  little  pleasure  at  the 
same  time.  Dear  knows,  they  have  little  enough,  poor 
things." 

Sister  Agatha  made  no  reply;  she  was  listening  in 
tently  to  2o8's  orders.  The  little  girl  had  risen  from 
her  low  courtesy  and  was  haranguing  the  assembled 
hundreds : 

"Now  watch  out,  all  of  yer,  an'  when  I  do  the  minute 
yer  can  clap  yer  hands  if  yer  like  it;  an'  if  yer  want 
some  more,  yer  must  clap  enough  to  split  yer  gloves  if 
yer  had  any  on,  an'  then  I'll  give  yer  the  coon  dance; 
an'  then  if  yer  like  that,  yer  can  play  yer  gloves  are 
busted  with  clappin'  an'  stomp  yer  feet  —  " 

"But  we  can't,"  Freckles  entered  her  prosaic  pro 
test,  "'cause  we're  squattin'." 

"Well,  get  up  then,  yer '11  have  to;  an'  then  if  you 
stomp  awful,  an'  holler  '  On-ko  —  on-ko !'  —  that's 
what  they  say  at  the  thayertre  —  I  '11  give  yer  somethin' 
else  —  " 

"Wot?"  demanded  206  suspiciously. 

"Don't  yer  wish  I'd  tell!"  said  208,  and  began  the 
minuet. 

It  was  marvellous  how  she  imitated  every  graceful 
movement,  every  turn  and  twist  and  bow,  every  courtesy 
to  the  imaginary  partner  —  Freckles  had  failed  her 
entirely  in  this  role  —  whose  imaginary  hand  she  held 
clasped  high  above  her  head;  her  clumsy  shoes  slid 
over  the  flagging  as  if  it  had  been  a  waxed  floor  under 


Flamsted  Quarries  51 

dainty  slippers.  There  was  an  outburst  of  applause; 
such  an  outburst  that  had  the  audience  really  worn 
gloves,  every  seam,  even  if  French  and  handsewed, 
must  have  cracked  under  the  healthy  pressure. 

208  beamed  and,  throwing  back  her  head,  suddenly 
flung  herself  into  the  coon  dance  which,  in  its  way,  was 
as  wild  and  erratic  as  the  minuet  had  been  stately  and 
methodical.  Wilder  and  wilder  grew  her  gyrations  — 
head,  feet,  legs,  shoulders,  hair,  hands,  arms,  were  in 
seemingly  perpetual  motion.  The  audience  grew 
wildly  excited.  They  jumped  up,  shouting  "  On-ko  — 
on-ko  !"  and  accompanied  their  shouts  with  the  stamp 
ing  of  feet.  A  dexterous  somersault  on  the  dancer's 
part  ended  the  performance;  her  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  exercise  and  excitement,  her  black  mane  was 
loosened  and  tossed  about  her  shoulders.  The  audi 
ence  lost  their  heads  and  even  206  joined  in  the 
prolonged  roar: 

"  On-ko,  208  —  on-ko-o-o-oor !  On-ko,  Flibberti 
gibbet  —  some  more  —  some  more  !" 

"It's  perfectly  disgraceful,"  muttered  Sister  Agatha, 
and  made  a  movement  to  leave  the  window ;  but  Sister 
Angelica  laid  a  gently  detaining  hand  on  her  arm. 

"No,  Agatha,  not  that,"  she  said  earnestly;  "you'll 
see  that  they  will  work  all  the  better  for  this  fun  — 
Hark!" 

There  was  a  sudden  and  deep  silence.  208  was 
evidently  ready  with  her  encore,  a  surprise  to  all  but 
the  performer.  She  shook  back  the  hair  from  her 
face,  raised  her  eyes,  crossed  her  two  hands  upon  her 
chest,  waited  a  few  seconds  until  a  swift  passenger 
train  on  the  track  behind  the  fence  had  smothered  its 
roar  in  the  tunnel  depths,  then  began  to  sing  "The 
Holy  City."  Even  Sister  Agatha  felt  the  tears  spring 


52  Flam  sted  Quarries 

as  she  listened.  A  switch  engine  letting  off  steam 
drowned  the  last  words,  and  there  was  no  applause. 
Flibbertigibbet  looked  about  her  inquiringly;  but  the 
girls  were  silent.  Such  singing  appeared  to  them 
out  of  the  ordinary  —  and  so  unlike  208  !  It  took  them 
a  moment  to  recover  from  their  surprise;  they  gath 
ered  in  groups  to  whisper  together  concerning  the 
performance. 

Meanwhile  Flibbertigibbet  was  waiting  expectantly. 
Where  was  the  well  earned  applause?  And  she  had 
reserved  the  best  for  the  last !  Ungrateful  ones !  Her 
friends  in  the  stone  house  always  praised  her  when  she 
did  her  best,  —  but  these  girls  — 

She  stamped  her  foot,  then  dashed  through  the 
broken  ranks,  making  faces  as  she  ran,  and  crying  out 
in  disgust  and  anger: 

"Catch  me  givin'  yer  any  more  on-kos,  yer  stingy 
things!"  and  with  that  she  ran  into  the  basement  fol 
lowed  by  Freckles  who  was  intent  upon  appeasing  her. 

The  two  sisters,  pacing  the  dim  corridor  together 
after  chapel  that  evening,  spoke  again  of  their  little 
wilding. 

"I  did  n't  finish  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about 
208,"  said  Sister  Angelica.  "I  heard  the  Sister  Superior 
tell  Father  Honore  when  he  was  here  the  other  day  that 
Mr.  Van  Ostend  had  been  to  see  her  in  regard  to  the 
child.  It  seems  he  has  found  a  place  for  her  in  the 
country  with  some  of  his  relations,  as  I  understand  it. 
He  said  his  interest  in  her  had  been  roused  when  he 
heard  her  for  the  first  time  on  the  stage,  and  that  when 
he  found  Flibbertigibbet  was  the  little  acquaintance 
his  daughter  had  made,  he  determined  to  further  the 
child's  interests  so  far  as  a  home  is  concerned." 

"Then   there   is   a   prospect   of   her   going,"    Sister 


Flamsted  Quarries  53 

Agatha  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  "Did  you  hear  what 
Father  Honore  said?" 

"Very  little;  but  I  noticed  he  looked  pleased,  and 
I  heard  him  say,  'This  is  working  out  all  right;  I'll 
step  across  and  see  Mr.  Van  Ostend  myself.'  —  I  shall 
miss  her  so !" 

Sister  Agatha  made  no  reply.  Together  the  two 
sisters  continued  to  pace  the  dim  corridor,  silent  each 
with  her  thoughts;  and,  pacing  thus,  up  and  down, 
up  and  down,  the  slender,  black-robed  figures  were 
soon  lost  in  the  increasing  darkness  and  became  mere 
neutral  outlines  as  they  passed  the  high  bare  windows 
and  entered  their  respective  rooms. 

Even  so,  a  few  weeks  later  when  Number  208  left 

the  Orphan  Asylum  on nd  Street,  they  passed 

quietly  out  of  the  child's  actual  life  and  entered  the 
fitfully  lighted  chambers  of  her  childish  memory 
wherein,  at  times,  they  paced  with  noiseless  footsteps 
as  once  in  the  barren  halls  of  her  orphanage  home. 


PART   SECOND 

Home   Soil 


PART   SECOND 

Home   Soil 


ALAND  of  entrancing  inner  waters,  our  own 
marvellous  Lake  Country  of  the  East,  lies 
just  behind  those  mountains  of  Maine  that 
sink  their  bases  in  the  Atlantic  and  are  fitly  termed  in 
Indian  nomenclature  Waves-of-the-Sea.  Bight  and 
bay  indent  this  mountainous  coast,  in  beauty  compa 
rable,  if  less  sublime  yet  more  enticing,  to  the  Nor 
wegian  fjords;  within  them  are  set  the  islands  large 
and  small  whereon  the  sheep,  sheltered  by  cedar 
coverts,  crop  the  short  thick  turf  that  is  nourished  by 
mists  from  the  Atlantic.  Above  bight  and  bay  and 
island  tower  the  mountains.  Their  broad  green  flanks 
catch  the  earliest  eastern  and  the  latest  western  lights. 
Their  bare  summits  are  lifted  boldly  into  the  infinite 
blue  that  is  reflected  in  the  waters  which  lap  their 
foundations. 

Flamsted  lies  at  the  outlet  of  Lake  Mesantic,  on 
the  gentle  northward  slope  of  these  Waves-of-the-Sea, 
some  eighteen  miles  inland  from  Penobscot  Bay.  Until 
the  last  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century  it  was  un 
connected  with  the  coast  by  any  railroad;  but  at  that 
time  a  branch  line  from  Hallsport  on  the  Bay,  en 
couraged  by  the  opening  of  a  small  granite  quarry  in 
the  Flamsted  Hills,  made  its  terminus  at  The  Corners 


58  Flamsted  Quarries 

—  a  sawmill  settlement  at  the  falls  of  the  Rothel,  a 
river  that  runs  rapidly  to  the  sea  after  issuing  from 
Lake  Mesantic.  A  mile  beyond  the  station  the  village 
proper  begins  at  its  two-storied  tavern,  The  Greenbush. 

From  the  lower  veranda  of  this  hostelry,  one  may 
look  down  the  shaded  length  of  the  main  street,  digni 
fied  by  many  an  old-fashioned  house,  to  The  Bow, 
an  irregular  peninsula  extending  far  into  the  lake 
and  containing  some  two  hundred  acres.  This  estate 
is  the  ancestral  home  of  the  Champneys,  known  as 
Champ-au-Haut,  in  the  vernacular  "Champo."  At 
The  Bow  the  highway  turns  suddenly,  crosses  a  bridge 
over  the  Rothel  and  curves  with  the  curving  pine- 
fringed  shores  of  the  lake  along  the  base  of  the  moun 
tain  until  it  climbs  the  steep  ascent  that  leads  to  Googe's 
Gore,  the  third  division  of  the  town  of  Flamsted. 

As  in  all  New  England  towns,  that  are  the  possessors 
of  "old  families,"  so  in  Flamsted;- — its  inhabitants  are 
partisans.  The  result  is,  that  it  has  been  for  years  as  a 
house  divided  against  itself,  and  heated  discussion  of  the 
affairs  of  the  Googes  at  the  Gore  and  the  Champneys 
at  The  Bow  has  been  from  generation  to  generation  an 
inherited  interest.  And  from  generation  to  generation, 
as  the  two  families  have  ramified  and  intermarriages 
occurred  more  and  more  frequently,  party  spirit  has 
run  higher  and  higher  and  bitter  feelings  been  engen 
dered.  But  never  have  the  factional  differences  been 
more  pronounced  and  the  lines  of  separation  drawn 
with  a  sharper  ploughshare  in  this  mountain-ramparted 
New  England  town,  than  during  the  five  years  subse 
quent  to  the  opening  of  the  Flamsted  Quarries  which 
brought  in  its  train  the  railroad  and  the  immigrants. 
This  event  was  looked  upon  by  the  inhabitants  as  the 
Invasion  of  the  Ne\v. 


Flamsted  Quarries  59 

The  interest  of  the  first  faction  was  centred  in 
Champ-au-Haut  and  its  present  possessor,  the  widow 
of  Louis  Champney,  old  Judge  Champney's  only  son. 
That  of  the  second  in  the  Googes,  Aurora  and  her 
son  Champney,  the  owners  of  Googe's  Gore  and  its 
granite  outcrop. 

The  office  room  of  The  Greenbush  has  been  for  two 
generations  the  acknowledged  gathering  place  of  the 
representatives  of  the  hostile  camps.  On  a  cool  even 
ing  in  June,  a  few  days  after  the  departure  of  several 
New  York  promoters,  who  had  formed  a  syndicate  to 
exploit  the  granite  treasure  in  The  Gore  and  for  that 
purpose  been  fully  a  week  in  Flamsted,  a  few  of  the 
natives  dropped  into  the  office  to  talk  it  over. 

When  Octavius  Buzzby,  the  factotum  at  Champ-au- 
Haut  and  twin  of  Augustus  Buzzby,  landlord  of  The 
Greenbush,  entered  the  former  bar-room  of  the  old 
hostelry,  he  found  the  usual  Saturday  night  frequenters. 
Among  them  was  Colonel  Milton  Caukins,  tax  collector 
and  assistant  deputy  sheriff  wrho,  never  quite  at  ease 
in  the  presence  of  his  long-tongued  wife,  expanded  dis 
cursively  so  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  the  office  of 
The  Greenbush.  He  was  in  full  flow  when  Octavius 
entered. 

"Hello,  Tave,"  he  cried,  extending  his  hand  in 
easy  condescension,  "you're  wrell  come,  for  you're 
just  in  time  to  hear  the  latest;  the  deal's  on  —  an 
A.  i  sure  thing  this  time.  Aurora  showed  me  the 
papers  to-day.  We're  in  for  it  now  —  government 
contracts,  state  houses,  battle  monuments,  grave 
yards;  we've  got  'em  all,  and  things  '11  begin  to  hum 
in  this  backwater  hole,  you  bet !" 

Octavius  looked  inquiringly  at  his  brother.  Au 
gustus  answered  by  raising  his  left  eyebrow  and  plac- 


60  Flamsted  Quarries 

idly  closing  his  right  eye  as  a  cautionary  signal  to  lie 
low  and  await  developments. 

It  was  the  Colonel's  way  to  boom  everything,  and 
simply  because  he  could  not  help  it.  It  was  not  a 
matter  of  principle  with  him,  it  was  an  affair  of  tem 
perament.  He  had  boomed  Flamsted  for  the  last  ten 
years  —  its  climate,  its  situation,  its  scenery,  its  water 
power,  its  lake-shore  lands  as  prospective  sites  for 
mansion  summer  cottages,  and  the  treasures  of  its 
unopened  quarries.  So  incorrigible  an  optimist  was 
Milton  Caukins  that  any  slight  degree  of  success, 
which  might  attend  the  promotion  of  any  one  of  his 
numerous  schemes,  caused  an  elation  that  amounted 
to  hilarity.  On  the  other  hand,  the  deadly  blight  of 
non-fulfilment,  that  annually  attacked  his  most  cher 
ished  hopes  for  the  future  development  of  his  native 
town,  failed  in  any  wise  to  depress  him,  or  check  the 
prodigal  casting  of  his  optimistic  daily  bread  on  the 
placid  social  waters  where,  as  the  years  multiplied,  his 
enthusiasms  scarce  made  a  ripple. 

"I  see  Mis'  Googe  yisterd'y,  an'  she  said  folks  hed 
been  down  on  her  so  long  for  sellin'  thet  pass'l  of 
paster  for  the  first  quarry,  thet  she  might  ez  well  go 
the  hull  figger  an'  git  'em  down  on  her  for  the  rest  of 
her  days  by  sellin'  the  rest.  By  Andrew  Jackson ! 
she 's  got  the  grit  for  a  woman  —  and  the  good  looks 
too !  She  can  hold  her  own  for  a  figger  with  any  gal 
in  this  town.  I  see  the  syndicaters  a-castin'  sheeps' 
eyes  her  ways  the  day  she  took  'em  over  The  Gore  pro- 
spectin' ;  but,  by  A.  J. !  they  hauled  in  their  lookin's 
when  she  turned  them  great  eyes  of  her  'n  their  ways. 
—  What's  the  figger  for  the  hull  piece?  Does  anybody 
know?" 

It   was   Joel   Quimber,   the   ancient   pound-master, 


Flamsted  Quarries  61 

who  spoke,  and  the  silence  that  followed  proved  that 
each  man  present  was  resenting  the  fact  that  he  was 
not  in  a  position  to  give  the  information  desired. 

"I  shall  know  as  soon  as  they  get  it  recorded,  that 
is,  if  they  don't  trade  for  a  dollar  and  if  they  ever  do 
get  it  recorded."  The  speaker  was  Elmer  Wiggins, 
druggist  and  town  clerk  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury.  He  was  pessimistically  inclined,  the  tendency 
being  fostered  by  his  dual  vocation  of  selling  drugs 
and  registering  the  deaths  they  occasionally  caused. 

Milton  Caukins,  or  the  Colonel,  as  he  preferred  to 
be  called  on  account  of  his  youthful  service  in  the 
state  militia  and  his  present  connection  with  the  his 
torical  society  of  The  Rangers,  took  his  cigar  from  his 
lips  and  blew  the  smoke  forcibly  towards  the  ceiling 
before  he  spoke. 

"She's  got  enough  now  to  put  Champ  through 
college.  The  first  forty  acres  she  sold  ten  years  ago 
will  do  that." 

"I  ain't  so  sure  of  thet."  Joel  Quimber's  tone  im 
plied  obstinate  conviction  that  his  modestly  expressed 
doubt  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  "Champ's  a  devil 
of  a  feller  when  it  comes  to  puttin'  through  anything. 
He's  a  chip  of  the  old  block.  He'll  put  through  more'n 
his  mother  can  git  out  if  he  gits  in  any  thicker  with 
them  big  guns  —  race  bosses,  ortermobillies,  steam 
yachts  an'  fancy  fixin's.  He  could  sink  the  hull  Gore 
to  the  foundations  of  Old  Time  in  a  few  of  them  suppers 
I've  heerd  he  gin  arter  the  show.  I  heerd  he  gin  ten 
dollars  a  plate  for  the  last  one  —  some  kind  of  primy- 
donny,  I  heerd.  But  Champ's  game  though.  I  heerd 
Mr.  Van  Ostend  talkin'  'bout  him  to  one  of  the  syndi- 
caters  —  mebbe  they're  goin'  to  work  him  in  with 
them  somehow ;  anyway,  I  guess  Aurory  don't  begrutch 


62  Flamsted  Quarries 

him  a  little  spendin'  money  seein'  how  easy  it  come 
out  of  the  old  sheep  pasters.  Who'd  'a'  thought  a  streak 
of  granite  could  hev  made  sech  a  stir!" 

"It's  a  stir  that'll  sink  this  town  in  the  mud."  Mr. 
Wiggins'  voice  was  what  might  be  called  thorough-bass, 
and  was  apt  to  carry  more  weight  with  his  townspeople 
than  his  opinions,  which  latter  were  not  always  ac 
ceptable  to  Colonel  Caukins.  "  Look  at  it  now !  This 
town  has  never  been  bonded;  we're  free  from  debt 
and  a  good  balance  on  hand  for  improvements.  Now 
along  comes  three  or  four  hundred  immigrants  to 
begin  with  —  trade  following  the  flag,  I  suppose  you 
call  it,  Colonel,"  (he  interpolated  this  with  cutting 
sarcasm) — "a  hodge-podge  of  Canucks,  and  Dagos, 
and  Polacks,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  —  a  darned 
set  of  foreigners,  foreign  to  our  laws,  our  ways,  our 
religion;  and  behind  'em  a  lot  of  men  that  would  be 
called  windbags  if  it  was  n't  for  their  money-bags. 
And  between  'em  our  noses  are  going  to  be  held  right 
down  on  the  grindstone.  I  tell  you  we'll  have  to  bond 
this  town  to  support  the  schooling  for  these  foreign 
brats,  and  there's  a  baker's  dozen  of  'em  every  time; 
and  there'll  be  tooting  and  dancing  and  singing  and 
playing  on  Sunday  with  their  foreign  gimcranks,  — 
mandolin-banjos  and  what-all  — 

"Good  heavens,  my  dear  fellow!"  the  Colonel 
broke  in  with  an  air  of  impatience,  "  can't  you  see  that 
it's  this  very  'stir,'  as  you  term  it,  that  is  going  to  put 
this  town  into  the  front  rank  of  the  competing  indus 
trial  thousands  of  America?" 

The  Colonel,  when  annoyed  at  the  quantity  of  cold 
water  thrown  upon  his  redhot  enthusiasm,  was  apt  to 
increase  the  warmth  of  his  patronizing  address  by  an 
endearing  term. 


Flamsted  Quarries  63 

"I  see  farther  than  the  front  ranks  of  your  'com 
peting  industrial  thousands  of  America,'  Milton  Cau- 
kins;  I  see  clear  over  'em  to  the  very  brink,  and  I  see 
a  struggling  wrestling  mass  of  human  beings  slipping, 
sliding  to  the  bottomless  pit  of  national  destitution, 
helped  downwards  by  just  such  darned  boomers  of 
what  you  call  'industrial  efficiency'  as  you  are,  Milton 
Caukins."  He  paused  for  breath. 

Augustus  Buzzby,  who  was  ever  a  man  of  peace, 
tried  to  divert  this  raging  torrent  of  speech  into  other 
and  personal  channels. 

"I  ain't  nothin'  'gainst  Mis'  Googe  as  a  woman, 
but  she  played  me  a  mean  trick  when  she  sold  that 
first  quarry.  It  killed  my  trade  as  dead  as  a  door  nail. 
You  can't  hire  them  highflyers  to  put  themselves  into 
a  town  their  money's  bankin'  on  to  ruin  in  what  you 
might  call  a  summer-social  way.  I  found  that  out 
'fore  they  left  this  house  last  week." 

"Yes,  and  she's  played  a  meaner  one  now."  Mr. 
Wiggins  made  the  assertion  with  asperity  and  looked 
at  the  same  time  directly  at  Octavius  Buzzby.  "I 
know  all  about  their  free  dispensaries  that'll  draw 
trade  away  from  my  very  counter  and  take  the  bread 
and  butter  out  of  my  mouth ;  and  as  for  the  fees  — 
there  won't  be  a  chance  for  recording  a  homestead 
site ;  there  is  n't  any  counting  on  such  things,  for 
they're  a  homeless  lot,  always  moving  from  pillar  to 
post  with  free  pickings  wherever  they  locate  over 
night,  just  like  the  gypsies  that  came  through  here  last 
September." 

"It's  kinder  queer  now,  whichever  way  you've  a 
mind  to  look  at  it,"  Joel  Quimber  remarked  medita 
tively.  His  eyes  were  cast  up  to  the  ceiling;  his  fore 
fingers  and  thumbs  formed  an  acute  triangle  over  the 


64  Flamsted  Quarries 

bridge  of  his  nose;  the  arms  of  his  chair  supported 
his  elbows.  "Queer  thet  it's  allus  them  upper  tens 
an'  emigrants  thet  keep  a-movin'  on,  fust  one  place  then 
t'other.  Kinder  looks  ez  if,  arter  all,  there  war  n't  no 
great  real  difference  when  it  comes  to  bein'  restless. 
Take  us  home  folks  now,  we're  rooted  in  deep,  an' 
I  guess  if  we  was  to  be  uprooted  kinder  suddin',  p'raps 
we'd  hev  more  charity  for  the  furriners.  There's  no 
tellin';  I  ain't  no  jedge  of  sech  things,  an'  I'm  an  out- 
an-out  American.  But  mebbe  my  great-great-great- 
granther's  father  could  hev'  told  ye  somethin'  wuth 
tellin' ;  he  an'  the  Champneys  was  hounded  out  of 
France,  an'  was  glad  'nough  to  emigrate,  though  they 
called  it  refugeein'  an'  pioneerin'  in  them  days." 

Augustus  Buzzby  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the 
old  man's  shoulder.  "You're  a  son  of  the  soil,  Joel; 
I  stand  corrected.  I  guess  the  less  any  of  us  true  blue 
Americans  say  'bout  flinging  stones  at  furriners  the 
safer  't  will  be  for  all  on  us." 

But  Mr.  Wiggins  continued  his  diatribe:  "There 
ain't  no  denying  it,  the  first  people  in  town  are  down 
on  the  whole  thing.  Did  n't  the  rector  tell  me  this 
very  day  that  't  was  like  ploughing  up  the  face  of 
nature  for  the  sake  of  sowing  the  seeds  of  political 
and  social  destruction  —  his  very  words  —  in  this  place 
of  peace  and  happy  homes?  He  don't  blame  Mrs. 
Champney  for  feeling  as  she  does  'bout  Aurora  Googe. 
He  said  it  was  a  shame  that  just  as  soon  as  Mrs. 
Champney  had  begun  to  sell  off  her  lake  shore  lands 
so  as  her  city  relatives  could  build  near  her,  Mrs. 
Googe  must  start  up  and  balk  all  her  plans  by  selling 
two  hundred  acres  of  old  sheep  pasture  for  the  big 
quarry." 

"Humph!"     It  was  the  first  sound  that  Octavius 


Flamsted  Quarries  65 

Buzzby  had  uttered  since  his  entrance  and  general 
greeting.  Hearing  it  his  brother  looked  warningly  in 
his  direction,  for  he  feared  that  the  factional  difference, 
which  had  come  to  the  surface  to  breathe  in  his  own 
and  Elmer  Wiggins'  remarks,  might  find  over-heated 
expression  in  the  mouth  of  his  twin  if  once  Tave's  ire 
should  be  aroused.  But  his  brother  gave  no  heed  and, 
much  to  Augustus'  relief,  went  off  at  a  tangent. 

"I  heard  old  Judge  Champney  talk  on  these  things 
a  good  many  times  in  his  lifetime,  an'  he  was  wise, 
wiser'n  any  man  here."  He  allowed  himself  this 
one  thrust  at  Mr.  Wiggins  and  the  Colonel.  "He 
used  to  say:  'Tavy,  it's  all  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  and  it's  got  to  strike  us  here  sometime;  not  in 
my  time,  but  in  my  boy's.  No  man  of  us  can  say  he 
owns  God's  earth,  an'  set  up  barriers  an'  fences,  an' 
sometimes  breastworks,  an'  holler  "hands  off"  to  every 
man  that  peeks  over  the  wall,  "this  here  is  mine  or  that 
is  ours !"  because  't  is  n't  in  the  natural  order  of  things, 
and  what  is  n't  in  the  natural  order  is  n't  going  to  be, 
Tavy.'  That's  what  the  old  Judge  said  to  me  more  'n 
once." 

"He  was  right,  Tavy,  he  was  right,"  said  Quimber 
eagerly  and  earnestly.  "I  can't  argify,  an'  I  can't 
convince;  but  I  know  he  was  right.  I've  lived  most 
a  generation  longer 'n  any  man  here,  an'  I've  seen  a 
thing  or  two  an'  marked  the  way  of  nater  jest  like  the 
Jedge.  I've  stood  there  where  the  Rothel  comes  down 
from  The  Gore  in  its  spring  freshet,  rarin',  tearin' 
down,  bearin'  stones  an'  rocks  along  with  its  current 
till  it  strikes  the  lowlands ;  then  a  racin'  along,  catchin' 
up  turf  an'  mud  an'  sand,  an'  foamin'  yaller  an'  brown 
acrost  the  medders,  leavin'  mud  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
thick  on  the  lowlands;  and  then  a-rushin'  into  the 


66  Flamsted  Quarries 

lake  ez  if  't  would  turn  the  bottom  upside  down  —  an' 
jest  look  what  happens!  Stid  of  kickin'  up  a  row  all 
along  the  banks  it  jest  ain't  nowhere  when  you  look  for 
it !  Only  the  lake  riled  for  a  few  furlongs  off  shore  an' 
kinder  humpin'  up  in  the  middle.  An'  arter  a  day  or 
two  ye  come  back  an'  look  agin,  an'  where 's  the  rile? 
All  settled  to  the  bottom,  an'  the  lake  as  clear  as  a 
looking-glass.  An'  then  ye  look  at  the  medders  an' 
ye  see  thet,  barrin'  a  big  boulder  or  two  an'  some 
stuns  thet  an  ox-team  can  cart  off,  an'  some  gullyin' 
out  long  the  highroad,  they  ain't  been  hurt  a  mite. 
An'  then  come  'long  'bout  the  fust  of  July,  an'  ye  go 
out  an'  stan'  there  and  look  for  the  silt  —  an'  what 
d'  ye  see?  Why,  jest  thet  ye 're  knee  deep  in  clover  an' 
timothy  thet  hez  growed  thet  high  an'  lush  jest  on 
account  of  thet  very  silt ! 

"Thet's  the  way  'tis  with  nateral  things;  an'  thet's 
what  the  old  Jedge  meant.  This  furrin  flood's  a- 
comin';  an'  we've  got  to  stan'  some  scares  an'  think 
mebbe  The  Gore  dam '11  bust,  an'  the  boulders  lay 
round  too  thick  for  the  land,  an'  the  mud '11  spile  our 
medders,  an'  the  lake  show  rily  so's  the  cattle  won't 
drink  —  an'  we'll  find  out  thet  in  this  great  free  home 
of  our 'n,  thet's  lent  us  for  a  while,  thet  there's  room 
'nough  for  all,  an',  in  the  end  —  not  in  my  time,  but  in 
your'n  —  our  Land,  like  the  medders,  is  goin'  to  be 
the  better  for  it." 

"Well  put,  well  put,  Quimber,"  said  the  Colonel 
who  had  been  showing  signs  of  restlessness  under  the 
unusual  and  protracted  eloquence  of  the  old  pound- 
master.  "We're  making  the  experiment  that  every 
other  nation  has  had  to  make  some  time  or  other. 
Take  old  Rome,  now  —  what  was  it  started  the  de 
cay,  eh?" 


Flamsted  Quarries  67 

As  no  one  present  dared  to  cope  with  the  decline 
of  so  large  a  subject,  the  Colonel  had  the  floor.  He 
looked  at  each  man  in  turn;  then  waved  the  hand 
that  held  his  cigar  airily  towards  the  ceiling.  "Just 
inbreeding,  sir,  inbreeding.  That's  what  did  it.  We 
Americans,  are  profiting  by  the  experience  of  the  cen 
turies  and  are  going  to  take  in  fresh  blood  just  as  fast 
as  it  can  attain  to  an  arterial  circulation  in  the  body 
politic,  sir;  an  arterial  circulation,  I  say — "  the 
Colonel  was  apt  to  roll  a  fine  phrase  more  than  once 
under  his  tongue  when  the  sound  thereof  pleased  him, 
—  "  and  in  the  course  of  nature  —  I  agree  perfectly 
with  the  late  Judge  Champney  and  our  friend,  Quim- 
ber  —  there  may  be,  during  the  process,  a  surcharge 
of  blood  to  the  head  or  stomach  of  the  body  politic 
that  will  cause  a  slight  attack  of  governmental  vertigo 
or  national  indigestion.  But  it  will  pass,  gentlemen,  it 
will  pass;  and  I  assure  you  the  health  of  the  Republic 
will  be  kept  at  the  normal,  with  nothing  more  than 
passing  attacks  of  racial  hysteria  which,  however  un 
dignified  they  may  appear  in  the  eyes  of  all  right-minded 
citizens,  must  ever  remain  the  transient  phenomena  of 
a  great  nation  in  the  making." 

The  Colonel,  having  finished  his  peroration  with 
another  wave  of  his  cigar  towards  the  ceiling,  lowered 
his  feet  from  their  elevated  position  on  the  counter, 
glanced  anxiously  at  the  clock,  which  indicated  a 
quarter  of  nine,  and  remarked  casually  that,  as  Mrs. 
Caukins  was  indisposed,  he  felt  under  obligations  to 
be  at  home  by  half-past  nine. 

Joel  Quimber,  whom  such  outbursts  of  eloquence 
on  the  Colonel's  part  in  the  usual  town-meeting  left 
in  a  generally  dazed  condition  of  mind  and  politics, 
remarked  that  he  heard  the  whistle  of  the  evening 


68  Flamsted  Quarries 

train  about  fifteen  minutes  ago,  and  asked  if  Augustus 
were  expecting  any  one  up  on  it. 

"No,  but  the  team's  gone  down  to  meet  it  just  the 
same.  Maybe  there'll  be  a  runner  or  two;  they  pay 
'bout  as  well  as  the  big  guns  after  all;  and  then  there's 
a  chance  of  one  of  the  syndicaters  coming  in  on  me  at 
any  time  now.  —  There's  the  team." 

He  went  out  on  the  veranda.  The  men  within 
the  office  listened  with  intensified  interest,  strength 
ened  by  that  curiosity  which  is  shown  by  those  in 
whose  lives  events  do  not  crowd  upon  one  another 
with  such  overwhelming  force,  that  the  susceptibility 
to  fresh  impressions  is  dulled.  They  heard  the  land 
lord's  cordial  greeting,  a  confusion  of  sounds  incident 
upon  new  arrivals;  then  Augustus  Buzzby  came  in, 
carrying  bags  and  travelling  shawl,  and,  following 
him,  a  tall  man  in  the  garb  of  a  priest  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church.  Close  at  his  side  was  a  little  girl. 
She  was  far  from  appearing  shy  or  awkward  in  the  pres 
ence  of  strangers,  nodding  brightly  to  Octavius,  who 
sat  nearest  the  door,  and  smiling  captivatingly  upon 
Joel  Quimber,  whereupon  he  felt  immediately  in  his 
pockets  for  a  peppermint  which,  to  his  disappointment, 
was  not  there. 

The  Colonel  sprang  to  his  feet  when  the  guests 
entered,  and  quickly  doffed  his  felt  hat  wrhich  was 
balancing  in  a  seemingly  untenable  position  on  the 
side  of  his  head.  The  priest,  who  removed  his  on 
the  threshold,  acknowledged  the  courtesy  with  a  bow 
and  a  keen  glance  which  included  all  in  the  room; 
then  he  stepped  to  the  desk  on  the  counter  to  enter 
his  name  in  the  ponderous  leather-backed  registry 
which  Augustus  opened  for  him.  The  little  girl  stood 
beside  him,  watching  his  every  movement. 


Those  present  loved  in  after  years  to  recall  this  scene 


Page  69 


Flamsted  Quarries  69 

The  Flamstedites  saw  before  them  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life,  possibly  forty-five.  He  was  fully  six  feet 
in  height,  noticeably  erect,  with  an  erectness  that  gave 
something  of  the  martial  to  his  carriage,  spare  but 
muscular,  shoulders  high  and  square  set,  and  above 
them  a  face  deeply  pockmarked,  the  features  large  but 
regular,  the  forehead  broad  and  bulging  rather  promi 
nently  above  the  eyes.  The  eyes  they  could  not  see; 
but  the  voice  made  itself  heard,  and  felt,  while  he  was 
writing.  The  men  present  unconsciously  welcomed  it 
as  a  personality. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  Mrs.  Louis  Champney  lives 
near  here?"  he  said,  addressing  his  host. 

"Yes,  sir;  just  about  a  mile  down  the  street  at  The 
Bow." 

"Oh,  please,  yer  Riverence,  write  mine  too,"  said 
the  child  who,  by  standing  on  tiptoe  at  the  high  counter, 
had  managed  to  follow  every  stroke  of  the  pen. 

The  priest  looked  at  the  landlord  with  a  frankly 
interrogatory  smile. 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  Ain't  you  my  guest  as  long 
as  you're  in  my  home?"  Augustus  replied  with  such 
whole-souled  heartiness  that  the  child  beamed  upon 
him  and  boldly  held  out  her  hand  for  the  pen. 

"Let  me  write  it,"  she  said  decidedly,  as  if  used  to 
having  her  way.  Colonel  Caukins  sprang  to  place  a 
high  three-legged  stool  for  the  little  registree,  and  was 
about  to  lift  her  on,  but  the  child,  laughing  aloud, 
managed  to  seat  herself  without  his  assistance,  and 
forthwith  gave  her  undivided  attention  to  the  entering 
of  her  name. 

Those  present  loved  in  after  years  to  recall  this 
scene:  the  old  bar,  the  three-legged  stool,  the  little 
girl  perched  on  top,  one  foot  twisted  over  the  round  — 


jo  Flamsted  Quarries 

so  busily  intent  upon  making  a  fine  signature  that  a 
tip  of  her  tongue  was  visible  held  tightly  against  her 
left  cheek  —  the  coarse  straw  hat,  the  clean  but  cheap 
blue  dress,  the  heavy  shoes  that  emphasized  the  deli 
cacy  of  her  ankles  and  figure ;  and  above  her  the  lean 
ing  priest,  smiling  gravely  with  fatherly  indulgence 
upon  this  firstling  of  his  flock  in  Flamsted. 

The  child  looked  up  for  approval  when  she  had 
finished  and  shaken,  with  an  air  of  intense  satisfac 
tion,  a  considerable  quantity  of  sand  over  the  fresh 
ink.  Evidently  the  look  in  the  priest's  eyes  was  re 
ward  enough,  for,  although  he  spoke  no  word,  the 
little  girl  laughed  merrily  and  in  the  next  moment 
hopped  down  rather  unexpectedly  from  her  high  place 
and  busied  herself  with  taking  a  survey  of  the  office 
and  its  occupants. 

The  priest  took  an  envelope  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Augustus,  saying  as  he  did  so : 

"This  is  Mr.  Buzzby,  I  know;  and  here  is  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Van  Ostend  in  regard  to  this  little  girl.  Her 
arrival  is  premature ;  but  the  matron  of  the  institution, 
where  she  has  been,  wished  to  take  advantage  of  my 
coming  to  Flamsted  to  place  her  in  my  care.  Mr.  Van 
Ostend  would  like  to  have  her  remain  here  with  you 
for  a  few  days  if  Mrs.  Champney  is  not  prepared  to 
receive  her  just  now." 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  surprise  among 
the  men  in  the  office,  and  all  eyes,  with  a  question-mark 
visible  in  them,  were  turned  towards  Octavius  Buzzby. 
Upon  him,  the  simple  announcement  had  the  effect  of 
a  shock;  he  felt  the  need  of  air,  and  slipped  out  to 
the  veranda,  but  not  before  he  received  another  bright 
smile  from  the  little  girl.  He  waited  outside  until  he 
saw  Augustus  show  the  newcomers  upstairs;  then  he 


Flamsted  Quarries  71 

re-entered  the  office  and  went  to  the  register  which 
was  the  speculative  focus  of  interest  for  all  the  others. 
Octavius  read : 

June   18,   1889  —  Fr.   JOHN    FRANCIS    HONORE,    NEW   YORK. 
AILEEN    ARMAGH,    ORPHAN    ASYLUM,    NEW 
YORK  CITY. 

The  Colonel  was  in  a  state  of  effervescing  hilarity. 
He  rubbed  his  hands  energetically,  slapped  Octavius 
on  the  back,  and  exclaimed  in  high  feather: 

"How's  this  for  the  first  drops  of  the  deluge,  eh, 
Tave?" 

Octavius  made  no  reply.  He  waited,  as  usual,  for 
the  evening's  mail.  The  carrier  handed  him  a  telegram 
from  New  York  for  Mrs.  Champney.  It  had  just 
come  up  on  the  train  from  Hallsport.  He  wondered 
what  connection  its  coming  might  have  with  the  un 
expected  arrival  of  this  orphan  child? 


II 


ON  his  way  home  Octavius  Buzzby  found  him 
self  wondering,  as  he  had  wondered  many 
times  before  on  occasion,  how  he  could  check 
mate  this  latest  and  most  unexpected  move  on  the 
part  of  the  mistress  of  Champ-au-Haut.  His  mind 
was  perturbed  and  he  realized,  while  making  an  effort 
to  concentrate  his  attention  on  ways  and  means,  that 
he  had  been  giving  much  of  his  mental  strength  during 
the  last  twenty  years  to  the  search  for  ulterior  motives 
on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Louis  Champney,  a  woman  of 
sixty  now,  a  Googe  by  birth  (the  Googes,  through 
some  genealogical  necromancy,  traced  their  descent 
from  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges.  The  name  alone,  not  the 
blood,  had,  according  to  family  tradition,  suffered 
corruption  with  time),  and  the  widow  of  Louis  Champ 
ney,  the  late  Judge  Champney's  only  son. 

The  Champneys  had  a  double  strain  of  French 
blood  in  their  veins,  Breton  and  Flemish;  the  latter 
furnished  the  collateral  branch  of  the  Van  Ostends. 
This  intermixture,  flowing  in  the  veins  of  men  and 
women  who  were  Americans  by  the  birthright  of  more 
than  two  centuries'  enjoyment  of  our  country's  insti 
tutions,  had  produced  for  several  generations  as  fine 
a  strain  of  brains  and  breeding  as  America  can  show. 

Louis  Champney,  the  last  of  the  line  in  direct  descent, 
was  looked  upon  from  his  boyhood  up  as  the  culmina 
tion  of  these  centuries'  flowering.  When,  at  forty,  he 
died  without  having  fulfilled  in  any  wise  the  great  ex- 


Flamsted  Quarries  73 

pectations  of  his  townspeople  and  relations,  the  interest 
of  the  community,  as  well  as  of  the  family,  centred  in 
the  prospects  of  Louis  Champney  Googe,  his  name 
sake,  and  nephew  on  his  wife's  side.  Here,  again, 
numerous  family  interests  as  well  as  communal  specu 
lations  were  disappointed.  The  Champney  estate  was 
left  entire  to  the  widow,  Almeda  Googe  Champney,  to 
dispose  of  as  she  might  deem  fit.  Her  powers  of  ad 
ministratrix  were  untrammelled  save  in  one  respect: 
Octavius  Buzzby  was  to  remain  in  his  position  as 
factotum  on  the  Champney  estate  and  adviser  for  its 
interests. 

It  was  at  this  juncture,  when  Louis  Champney 
died  without  remembering  his  nephew-in-law  by  so 
much  as  a  book  from  his  library  and  the  boy  was  ten 
years  old,  that  a  crisis  was  discovered  to  be  imminent 
in  the  fortunes  of  the  Googe-Champney  families,  the 
many  ramifications  of  which  were  intricately  inter 
woven  in  the  communal  life  of  Flamsted.  This  crisis 
had  not  been  averted;  for  Aurora  Googe,  the  sister- 
in-law  of  Mrs.  Champney  and  mother  of  young  Champ 
ney,  sold  a  part  of  her  land  in  The  Gore  for  the  first 
granite  quarry,  and  in  so  doing  changed  for  all  time 
the  character  and  fortunes  of  the  town  of  Flamsted. 

For  many  years  Octavius  Buzzby  had  championed 
openly  and  in  secret  the  cause  of  Aurora  Googe  and 
her  only  son.  To-night,  while  walking  slowly  home 
wards,  he  was  pondering  what  attitude  of  mind  he 
must  assume,  before  he  could  deal  adequately  with 
the  momentous  event  which  had  been  foreshadowed 
from  the  moment  he  learned  from  the  priest's  lips 
that  Mr.  Van  Ostend  was  implicated  in  the  coming  of 
this  orphan  child.  He  recalled  that  little  Alice  Van 
Ostend  prattled  much  about  this  same  child  during  the 


74  Flamsted  Quarries 

week  she  had  spent  recently  with  her  father  at  Champ- 
au-Haut. 

Was  the  mistress  of  Champ-au-Haut  going  to  adopt 
her? 

Almeda  Champney  had  never  wanted  the  blessing 
of  a  child,  and,  contrary  to  her  young  husband's  wishes 
—  he  was  her  junior  by  twelve  years  —  she  had  had 
her  way.  Her  nature  was  so  absorbingly  tenacious  of 
whatever  held  her  narrow  interests,  that  a  child  at 
Champ-au-Haut  would  have  broken,  in  a  measure, 
her  domination  of  her  weaker-willed  husband,  be 
cause  it  would  have  centred  in  itself  his  love  and  am 
bition  to  "keep  up  the  name."  That  now,  eleven 
years  after  Louis  Champney's  death,  she  should  con 
template  the  introduction  into  her  perfectly  ordered 
household  of  a  child,  an  alien,  was  a  revelation  of 
appalling  moment  to  Octavius.  He  scouted  the  idea 
that  she  would  enter  the  house  as  an  assistant.  None 
was  needed;  and,  moreover,  those  small  hands  could 
accomplish  little  in  the  next  ten  years.  She  meant 
to  adopt  her  then !  An  alien  was  to  inherit  the 
Champney  property !  Octavius  actually  shivered  at 
the  thought. 

Was  it,  could  it  be  an  act  of  spite  against  Aurora 
Googe?  Was  it  a  final  answer  to  any  expectations 
of  her  nephew,  Champney  Googe,  her  husband's 
namesake  and  favorite?  Was  this  little  alien  waif  to 
be  made  a  catspaw  for  her  revenge?  She  was  capable 
of  such  a  thing,  was  Almeda  Champney.  He  knew 
her ;  none  better  !  Had  not  her  will,  thus  far  in  her  life, 
bent  everything  with  which  it  had  come  in  contact; 
crushed  whatever  had  opposed  it;  broken  irrevocably 
whosoever  for  a  while  had  successfully  resisted  it  ? 

His  thin  lips  drew  to  a  straight  line.     All  his  man- 


Flamsted  Quarries  75 

hood's  strength  of  desire  for  fair  play,  a  desire  he  had 
been  fated  to  see  unfulfilled  during  the  last  twenty 
years,  rose  in  rebellion  to  champion  the  cause  of  the 
little  newcomer  who  smiled  on  him  so  brightly  in  the 
office  of  The  Greenbush.  Nor  did  he  falter  in  his 
resolution  when  he  presented  himself  at  the  library 
door  with  the  telegram  in  his  hand. 

"Come  in,  Octavius;  was  there  any  mail?" 

"Only  a  telegram  from  New  York."  He  handed  it 
to  her. 

She  opened  and  read  it;  then  laid  it  on  the  table. 
She  removed  her  eyeglasses,  for  she  had  grown  far- 
sighted  with  advancing  years,  in  order  to  look  at  the 
back  of  the  small  man  who  was  leaving  the  room. 
If  he  had  seen  the  smile  that  accompanied  the  action, 
he  might  well  have  faltered  in  his  resolution  to  cham 
pion  any  righteous  cause  on  earth. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Octavius." 

"Now  it's  coming!"  he  thought  and  faced  her 
again;  he  was  bracing  himself  mentally  to  meet  the 
announcement. 

"Did  you  see  the  junk  man  at  The  Corners  to-day 
about  those  shingle  nails?" 

In  the  second  of  hesitation  before  replying,  he  had 
time  inwardly  to  curse  her.  She  was  always  letting 
him  down  in  this  way.  It  was  a  trick  of  hers  when, 
to  use  his  own  expression,  she  had  "something  up  her 
sleeve." 

"Yes;  but  he  won't  take  them  off  our  hands." 

"Why  not?"  She  spoke  sharply  as  was  her  way 
when  she  suspected  any  thwarting  of  her  will  or  desire. 

"He  says  he  won't  give  you  your  price  for  they  ain't 
worth  it.  They  ain't  particular  good  for  old  iron  any 
way;  most  on  'em's  rusty  and  crooked.  You  know 


j6  Flamsted  Quarries 

they've  been  on  the  old  coach  house  for  good  thirty 
years,  and  the  Judge  used  to  say — " 

"What  will  he  give?" 

"A  quarter  of  a  cent  a  pound." 

"How  many  pounds  are  there?  " 

"Fifty-two." 

"  Fifty-two  —  hm-m ;  he  sha'n't  have  them.  They  're 
worth  a  half  a  cent  a  pound  if  they're  worth  anything. 
You  can  store  them  in  the  workshop  till  somebody 
comes  along  that  does  .want  them,  and  will  pay."  He 
turned  again  to  leave  her. 

"Just  a  moment,  Octavius."  Once  more  he  came 
back  over  the  threshold. 

"Were  there  any  arrivals  at  The  Greenbush 
to-night?" 

"I  judged  so  from  the  register." 

"Did  you  happen  to  see  a  girl  there?" 

"I  saw  a  child,  a  little  girl,  smallish  and  thin;  a 
priest  was  with  her." 

"A  priest?"  Mrs.  Champney  looked  nonplussed 
for  a  moment  and  put  on  her  glasses  to  cover  her  sur 
prise.  "Did  you  learn  her  name,  the  girl's?" 

"It  was  in  the  register,  Aileen  Armagh,  from  an 
orphan  asylum  in  New  York." 

"Then  she's  the  one,"  she  said  in  a  musing  tone 
but  without  the  least  expression  of  interest.  She  re 
moved  her  glasses.  Octavius  took  a  step  backwards. 
"A  moment  more,  Octavius.  I  may  as  well  speak  of 
it  now;  I  am  only  anticipating  by  a  week  or  two,  at 
the  most,  what,  in  any  case,  I  should  have  told  you. 
While  Mr.  Van  Ostend  was  here,  he  enlisted  my  sym 
pathy  in  this  girl  to  such  an  extent  that  I  decided  to 
keep  her  for  a  few  months  on  trial  before  making  any 
permanent  arrangement  in  regard  to  her.  I  want  to 


Flamsted  Quarries  77 

judge  of  her  capability  to  assist  Ann  and  Hannah  in 
the  housework ;  Hannah  is  getting  on  in  years.  What 
do  you  think  of  her  ?  How  did  she  impress  you  ?  Now 
that  I  have  decided  to  give  her  a  trial,  you  may  speak 
freely.  You  know  I  am  guided  many  times  by  your 
judgment  in  such  matters." 

Octavius  Buzzby  could  have  ground  his  teeth  in  im 
potent  rage  at  this  speech  which,  to  his  accustomed 
ears,  rang  false  from  beginning  to  end,  yet  was  cloaked 
in  terms  intended  to  convey  a  compliment  to  himself. 
But,  instead,  he  smiled  the  equivocal  smile  with  which 
many  a  speech  of  like  tenor  had  been  greeted,  and 
replied  with  marked  earnestness: 

"I  wouldn't  advise  you,  Mrs.  Champney,  to  count 
on  much  assistance  from  a  slip  of  a  thing  like  that. 
She  's  small,  and  don't  look  more  'n  nine,  and  —  " 

"  She 's  over  twelve,"  Mrs.  Champney  spoke  de 
cidedly;  "and  a  girl  of  twelve  ought  to  be  able  to 
help  Ann  and  Hannah  in  some  of  their  work." 

"Well,  I  ain't  no  judge  of  children  as  there  's  never 
been  any  of  late  years  at  Champo."  He  knew  his 
speech  was  barbed.  Mrs.  Champney  carefully  ad 
justed  her  glasses  to  the  thin  bridge  of  her  straight 
white  nose.  "And  if  there  had  been,  I  should  n't  want 
to  say  what  they  could  do  or  what  they  could  n't  at 
that  age.  Take  Romanzo,  now,  he's  old  enough  to 
work  if  you  watch  him;  and  now  he's  here  I  don't 
deny  but  what  you  had  the  rights  of  it  'bout  my  need 
ing  an  assistant.  He  takes  hold  handy  if  you  show  him 
how,  and  is  willing  and  steady.  But  two  on  'em  —  I 
don't  know;"  he  shook  his  head  dubiously;  "a  grow 
ing  boy  and  girl  to  feed  and  train  and  clothe  —  seems 
as  if — "  Octavius  paused  in  the  middle  of  his  sen 
tence.  He  knew  his  ground,  or  thought  he  knew  it. 


78  Flamsted  Quarries 

"You  said  yourself  she  was  small  and  thin,  and  I 
can  give  her  work  enough  to  offset  her  board.  Of 
course,  she  will  have  to  go  to  school,  but  the  tuition  is 
free;  and  if  I  pay  school  taxes,  that  are  increasing 
every  year,  I  might  as  well  have  the  benefit  of  them,  if 
I  can,  in  my  own  household." 

There  seemed  no  refutation  needed  to  meet  such  an 
argument,  and  Octavius  retreated  another  step  towards 
the  door. 

"A  moment  more,  Octavius,"  she  said  blandly,  for 
she  knew  he  was  longing  to  rid  her  of  his  presence; 
"Mr.  Emlie  has  been  here  this  evening  and  drawn  up 
the  deeds  conveying  my  north  shore  property  to  the 
New  York  syndicate.  Mr.  Van  Ostend  has  conducted 
all  the  negotiations  at  that  end,  and  I  have  agreed  to 
the  erection  of  the  granite  sheds  on  those  particular 
sites  and  to  the  extension  of  a  railroad  for  the  quarries 
around  the  head  of  the  lake  to  The  Corners.  The 
syndicate  are  to  control  all  the  quarry  interests,  and 
Mr.  Van  Ostend  says  in  a  few  years  they  will  assume 
vast  proportions,  entailing  an  outlay  of  at  least  three 
millions.  They  say  there  is  to  be  a  large  electric  plant 
at  The  Corners,  for  the  mill  company  have  sold  them 
the  entire  water  power  at  the  falls.  —  I  hope  Aurora  is 
satisfied  with  what  she  has  accomplished  in  so  short 
a  time.  Champney,  I  suppose,  comes  home  next 
month?" 

Octavius  merely  nodded,  and  withdrew  in  haste 
lest  his  indignation  get  the  upper  hand  of  his  dis 
cretion.  It  behooved  him  to  be  discreet  at  this  junc 
ture;  he  must  not  injure  Aurora  Googe's  cause,  which 
he  deemed  as  righteous  a  one  as  ever  the  sun  shone 
upon,  by  any  injudicious  word  that  might  avow  his 
partisanship. 


Flamsted  Quarries  79 

Mrs.  Champney  smiled  again  when  she  saw  his 
precipitous  retreat.  She  had  freighted  every  word 
with  ill  will,  and  knew  how  to  raise  his  silent  resent 
ment  to  the  boiling  point.  She  rose  and  stepped 
quickly  into  the  hall. 

"Tavy,"  she  called  after  him  as  he  was  closing  the 
door  into  the  back  passage.  He  turned  to  look  at  her ; 
she  stood  in  the  full  light  of  the  hall-lamp.  "Just 
a  moment  before  you  go.  Did  you  happen  to  hear  who 
the  priest  is  who  came  with  the  girl?" 

"His  name  was  in  the  ledger.  The  Colonel  said  he 
was  a  father  —  Father  Honore,  I  can't  pronounce  it, 
from  New  York." 

"Is  he  stopping  at  The  Greenbush?" 

"He's  put  up  there  for  to-night  anyway." 

"I  think  I  must  see  this  priest;  perhaps  he  can  give 
me  more  detailed  information  about  the  girl.  That's 
all." 

She  went  back  into  the  library,  closing  the  door 
after  her.  Octavius  shut  his;  then,  standing  there 
in  the  dimly  lighted  passageway,  he  relieved  himself 
by  doubling  both  fists  and  shaking  them  vigorously 
at  the  panels  of  that  same  door,  the  while  he  simulated, 
first  with  one  foot  then  with  the  other,  a  lively  kick 
against  the  baseboard,  muttering  between  his  set  teeth : 

"The  devil  if  it's  all,  you  devilly,  divelly,  screwy 
old  — " 

The  door  opened  suddenly.  Simultaneously  with 
its  opening  Octavius  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind 
to  blow  out  the  light.  He  drew  his  breath  short  and 
fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  matches. 

"Why,  Tavy,  you  here!"  (How  well  she  knew  that 
the  familiar  name  "Tavy"  was  the  last  turn  of  the 
thumbscrew  for  this  factotum  of  the  Champneys! 


80  Flamsted  Quarries 

She  never  applied  it  unless  she  knew  he  was  thoroughly 
worsted  in  the  game  between  them.)  "  I  was  coming  to 
find  you;  I  forgot  to  say  that  you  may  go  down  to 
morrow  at  nine  and  bring  her  up.  I  want  to  look  her 
over." 

She  closed  the  door.  Octavius,  without  stopping 
to  relight  the  lamp,  hurried  up  to  his  room  in  the  ell, 
fearful  lest  he  be  recalled  a  fifth  time  —  a  test  of  his 
powers  of  mental  endurance  to  which  he  dared  not 
submit  in  his  present  perturbed  state. 

Mrs.  Champney  walked  swiftly  down  the  broad 
main  hall,  that  ran  through  the  house,  to  the  door 
opening  on  the  north  terrace  whence  there  was  an  un 
obstructed  view  up  the  three  miles'  length  of  Lake  Me- 
santic  to  the  Flamsted  Hills;  and  just  there,  through 
a  deep  depression  in  their  midst,  the  Rothel,  a  rushing 
brook,  makes  its  way  to  the  calm  waters  at  their  gates. 
At  this  point,  where  the  hills  separate  like  the  open 
ing  sepals  of  a  gigantic  calyx,  the  rugged  might  of 
Katahdin  heaves  head  and  shoulder  into  the  blue. 

The  irregular  margin  of  the  lake  is  fringed  with 
pines  of  magnificent  growth.  Here  and  there  the 
shores  rise  into  cliffs,  seamed  at  the  top  and  inset  on 
the  face  with  slim  white  lady  birches,  or  jut  far  into 
the  waters  as  rocky  promontories  sparsely  wooded  with 
fir  and  balsam  spruce. 

Mrs.  Champney  stepped  out  upon  the  terrace.  Her 
accustomed  eyes  looked  upon  this  incomparable,  native 
scene  that  was  set  in  the  full  beauty  of  mid-summer's 
moonlight.  She  advanced  to  the  broad  stone  steps, 
that  descend  to  the  level  of  the  lake,  and,  folding  her 
arms,  her  hands  resting  lightly  upon  them,  stood  im 
movable,  looking  northwards  to  the  Flamsted  Hills  — 
looking,  but  not  seeing;  for  her  thoughts  were  leaping 


Flamsted  Quarries  81 

upwards  to  The  Gore  and  its  undeveloped  resources; 
to  Aurora  Googe  and  the  part  she  was  playing  in  this 
transitional  period  of  Flamsted's  life;  to  the  future 
years  of  industrial  development  and,  in  consequence, 
her  own  increasing  revenues  from  the  quarries.  She 
had  stipulated  that  evening  that  a  clause,  which  would 
secure  to  her  the  rights  of  a  first  stockholder,  should 
be  inserted  in  the  articles  of  conveyance. 

The  income  of  eight  thousand  from  the  estate,  as 
willed  to  her,  had  increased  under  her  management, 
aided  by  her  ability  to  drive  a  sharp  bargain  and  the 
penuriousness  which,  according  to  Octavius,  was 
capable  of  "making  a  cent  squeal",  to  twelve  thou 
sand.  The  sale  of  her  north  shore  lands  would  in 
crease  it  another  five  thousand.  Within  a  few  years, 
according  to  Mr.  Van  Ostend  —  and  she  trusted  him 
—  her  dividends  from  her  stock  would  net  her  several 
thousands  more.  She  was  calculating,  as  she  stood 
there  gazing  northwards,  unseeing,  into  the  serene 
night  and  the  hill-peace  that  lay  within  it,  how  she 
could  invest  this  increment  for  the  coming  years,  and 
casting  about  in  her  mathematically  inclined  mind  for 
means  to  make  the  most  of  it  in  interest  per  cent.  She 
felt  sure  the  future  would  show  satisfactory  results.  — 
And  after? 

That  did  not  appeal  to  her. 

She  unfolded  her  arms,  and  gathering  her  skirt  in 
both  hands  went  down  the  steps  and  took  her  stand 
on  the  lowest.  She  was  still  looking  northwards.  Her 
skirt  slipped  from  her  left  hand  which  she  raised  half 
mechanically  to  let  a  single  magnificent  jewel,  that 
guarded  the  plain  circlet  of  gold  on  her  fourth  finger, 
flash  in  the  moonlight.  She  held  it  raised  so  for  a 
moment,  watching  the  play  of  light  from  the  facets. 


82  Flamsted  Quarries 

Suddenly  she  clinched  her  delicate  fist  spasmodically; 
shook  it  forcibly  upwards  towards  the  supreme  strength 
of  those  silent  hills,  which,  in  comparison  with  the 
human  three  score  and  ten,  may  well  be  termed  "  ever 
lasting",  and,  muttering  fiercely  under  her  breath, 
"  You  shall  never  have  a  penny  of  it!",  turned,  went 
swiftly  up  the  steps,  and  entered  the  house. 


Ill 


HAD  the  mistress  of  Champ-au-Haut  stood 
on  the  terrace  a  few  minutes  longer,  she 
might  have  seen  with  those  far-sighted  eyes 
of  hers  a  dark  form  passing  quickly  along  the  strip  of 
highroad  that  showed  white  between  the  last  houses  at 
The  Bow.  It  was  Father  Honore".  He  walked  rapidly 
along  the  highway  that,  skirting  the  base  of  the  moun 
tain,  follows  the  large  curve  of  the  lake  shore.  Rapid 
as  was  the  pace,  the  quickened  eyes  were  seeing  all 
about,  around,  above.  In  passing  beneath  a  stretch 
of  towering  pines,  he  caught  between  their  still  indef 
inite  foliage  the  gleam  of  the  lake  waters.  He  stopped 
short  for  a  full  minute  to  pommel  his  resonant  chest; 
to  breathe  deep,  deep  breaths  of  the  night  balm.  Then 
he  proceeded  on  his  way. 

That  way  led  northwards  along  the  lake  shore;  it 
skirted  the  talus  that  had  fallen  from  the  cliff  which 
rose  three  hundred  feet  above  him.  He  heard  the 
sound  of  a  rolling  stone  gathering  in  velocity  among 
the  rubble.  He  halted  in  order  to  listen ;  to  trace,  if 
possible,  its  course.  The  dull  monotone  of  its  rum 
bling  rattle  started  a  train  of  thought:  perhaps  his 
foot,  treading  the  highway  lightly,  had  caused  the  sen 
sitive  earth  to  tremble  just  sufficiently  to  jar  the  deli 
cately  poised  stone  and  send  it  from  its  resting  place ! 
He  went  on.  Thoughts  not 'to  be  uttered  crowded  to 
the  forefront  of  consciousness  as  he  neared  the  cleft  in 


84  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  Flamsted  Hills,  whence  the  Rothel  makes  known 
to  every  wayfarer  that  it  has  come  direct  from  the 
heart  of  The  Gore,  and  brought  with  it  the  secrets  of 
its  granite  veins. 

The  road  grew  steeper;  the  man's  pace  did  not 
slacken,  but  the  straight  back  was  bent  at  an  angle 
which  showed  the  priest  had  been  accustomed  to 
mountain  climbing.  In  the  leafy  half-light,  which  is 
neither  dawn  nor  twilight,  but  that  reverential  ef 
fulgence  which  is  made  by  moonlight  sifting  finely 
through  midsummer  foliage,  the  Rothel  murmured  over 
its  rocky  bed;  once,  when  in  a  deep  pool  its  babble 
wholly  ceased,  an  owl  broke  the  silence  with  his  "witti- 
hoo-hoo-hoo". 

Still  upwards  he  kept  his  way  and  his  pace  until 
he  emerged  into  the  full  moonlight  of  the  heights. 
There  he  halted  and  looked  about  him.  He  was  near 
the  apex  of  The  Gore.  To  the  north,  above  the  fore 
ground  of  the  sea  of  hilltops,  loomed  Katahdin.  At 
his  right,  a  pond,  some  five  acres  in  extent,  lay  at  the 
base  of  cliff-like  rocks  topped  with  a  few  primeval 
pines.  Everywhere  there  were  barren  sheep  pastures 
alternating  with  acres  of  stunted  fir  and  hemlock,  and 
in  sheltered  nooks,  adjacent  to  these  coverts,  he  could 
discern  something  which  he  judged  to  be  stone  sheep- 
folds.  Just  below  him,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
road  and  the  Rothel,  which  was  crossed  by  a  broad 
bridging  of  log  and  plank,  stood  a  long  low  stone  house, 
to  the  north  of  which  a  double  row  of  firs  had  been 
planted  for  a  windbreak.  Behind  him,  on  a  rise  of 
ground  a  few  rods  from  the  highway,  was  a  large 
double  house  of  brick  with  deep  granite  foundations 
and  white  granite  window  caps.  Two  shafts  of  the 
same  stone  supported  the  ample  white-painted  en- 


Flamsted  Quarries  85 

trance  porch.  Ancestral  elms  over-leafed  the  roof  on 
the  southern  side.  One  light  shone  from  an  upper 
window.  Beyond  the  elms,  a  rough  road  led  still 
upwards  to  the  heights  behind  the  house. 

The  priest  retraced  his  steps;  turned  into  this  road, 
for  which  the  landlord  of  The  Greenbush  had  given 
him  minute  instructions,  and  followed  its  rough  way 
for  an  eighth  of  a  mile;  then  a  sudden  turn  around  a 
shoulder  of  the  hill  —  and  the  beginning  of  the  famous 
Flamsted  granite  quarries  lay  before  him,  gleaming, 
sparkling  in  the  moonlight  —  a  snow-white,  glistening 
patch  on  the  barren  hilltop.  Near  it  were  a  few  huts 
of  turf  and  stone  for  the  accommodation  of  the  quarry- 
men.  This  was  all.  But  it  was  the  scene,  self-chosen, 
of  this  priest's  future  labors;  and  while  he  looked 
upon  it,  thoughts  unutterable  crowded  fast,  too  fast 
for  the  brain  already  stimulated  by  the  time  and  en 
vironment.  He  turned  about;  retraced  his  steps  at 
the  same  rapid  pace ;  passed  again  up  the  highroad  to 
the  head  of  The  Gore,  then  around  it,  across  a  barren 
pasture,  and  climbed  the  cliff-like  rock  that  was  crowned 
by  the  ancient  pines.  He  stood  there  erect,  his  head 
thrown  back,  his  forehead  to  the  radiant  heavens,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  pale  twinklings  of  the  seven  stars  in 
the  northernmost  constellation  of  the  Bear  —  rapt, 
caught  away  in  spirit  by  the  intensity  of  feeling  en 
gendered  by  the  hour,  the  place.  Then  he  knelt, 
bowing  his  head  on  a  lichened  rock,  and  unto  his 
Maker,  and  the  Maker  of  that  humanity  he  had  elected 
to  serve,  he  consecrated  himself  anew. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards,  he  was  coming  down  The 
Gore  on  his  way  back  to  The  Greenbush.  He  heard  the 
agitated  ringing  of  a  bell-wether;  then  the  soft  huddling 
rush  of  a  flock  of  sheep  somewhere  in  the  distance.  A 


86  Flamsted  Quarries 

sheep  dog  barked  sharply;  a  hound  bayed  in  answer 
till  the  hills  north  of  The  Gore  gave  back  a  multiple 
echo;  but  the  Rothel  kept  its  secrets,  and  with  inarti 
culate  murmuring  made  haste  to  deposit  them  in  the 
quiet  lake  waters. 


IV 


BUT,  mother  —  " 
There   was   an   intonation   in   the   protest 
that   hinted   at  some  irritation.     Champney 
Googe  emptied  his  pipe  on  the  grass  and  knocked  it 
clean  against  the  porch  rail  before  he  continued. 

"Won't  it  make  a  lot  of  talk?    Of  course,  I  can  see 
your  side  of  it;    it's  hospitable  and  neighborly  and  all 
that,  to  give  the  priest  his  meals  for  a  while,  but,  — 
he  hesitated,  and  his  mother  answered  his  thought. 

"A  little  talk  more  or  less  after  all  there  has  been 
about  the  quarry  won't  do  any  harm,  and  I'm  used  to 
it."  She  spoke  with  some  bitterness. 

"It  has  stirred  up  a  hornet's  nest  about  your  ears, 
that's  a  fact.  How  does  Aunt  Meda  take  this  latest 
move  ?  Meat-axey  as  usual  ?  I  did  n't  see  her  when  I 
went  there  yesterday;  she's  in  Hallsport  for  two  days 
on  business,  so  Tave  says." 

His  mother  smiled.  "I  haven't  see  her  since  the 
sale  was  concluded,  but  I  hear  she  has  strengthened 
the  opposition  in  consequence.  I  get  my  information 
from  Mrs.  Caukins." 

At  the  mention  of  that  name  Champney  laughed  out. 
"Good  authority,  mother.  I  must  run  over  and  see 
her  to-night.  Well,  we  don't  care,  do  we?  I  mean 
about  the  feeling.  Mother,  I  just  wish  you  were  a 
man  for  one  minute." 

"Why?" 


88  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Because  I'd  like  to  go  up  to  you,  man  fashion,  grip 
your  hand,  slap  you  on  the  back,  and  shout  '  By  Jove, 
old  man,  you've  made  a  deal  that  would  turn  the 
sunny  side  of  Wall  Street  green  with  envy ! '  How  did 
you  do  it,  mother  ?  And  without  a  lawyer !  I  '11  bet 
Emlie  is  mad  because  he  did  n't  get  a  chance  to  put  his 
finger  in  your  pie." 

"I  was  thinking  of  you,  of  your  future,  and  how 
you  have  been  used  by  Almeda  Champney;  and  that 
gave  me  the  confidence,  almost  the  push  of  a  man  — 
and  I  dealt  with  them  as  a  man  with  men;  but  I  felt 
unsexed  in  doing  it.  I've  wondered  what  they  think 
of  me." 

"Think  of  you !  I  can  tell  you  what  one  man  thinks 
of  you,  and  that's  Mr.  Van  Ostend.  I  had  a  note  from 
him  at  the  time  of  the  sale  asking  me  to  come  to  his 
office,  an  affidavit  was  necessary,  and  I  found  he  had 
had  eyes  in  his  head  for  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world  —  " 

"Champney!" 

"Fact;  and,  what's  more,  I  got  an  invitation  to  his 
house  on  the  strength  of  his  recognition  of  that  fact. 
I  dined  with  him  there;  his  sister  is  a  stunning  girl." 

"I'm  glad  such  homes  are  open  to  you;  it  is  your 
right  and  —  it  compensates." 

"For  what,  mother?" 

"Oh,  a  good  many  things.    How  do  they  live?" 

"The  Van  Ostends?" 

"Yes." 

Champney  Googe  hugged  his  knees  and  rocked  back 
and  forth  on  the  step  before  he  answered.  His  merry 
face  seemed  to  lengthen  in  feature,  to  harden  in  line. 
His  mother  left  her  chair  and  sewing  to  sit  down  on 
the  step  beside  him.  She  looked  up  inquiringly. 


Flamsted  Quarries  89 

"  Just  as  /  mean  to  live  sometime,  mother,"  —  his 
fresh  young  voice  rang  determined  and  almost  hard; 
his  mother's  eyes  kindled ;  —  "in  a  way  that  expresses 
Life  —  as  you  and  I  understand  it,  and  don't  live  it, 
mother;  as  you  and  I  have  conceived  of  it  while  up 
here  among  these  sheep  pastures."  He  glanced  inimi- 
cally  for  a  moment  at  the  barren  slopes  above  them. 
"I  have  you  to  thank  for  making  me  comprehend  the 
difference."  He  continued  the  rocking  movement  for 
a  while,  his  hands  still  clasping  his  knees.  Then  he 
went  on: 

"As  for  his  home  on  the  Avenue,  there  is  n't  its  like 
in  the  city,  and  as  a  storehouse  of  the  best  in  art  it  has  n't 
its  equal  in  the  country;  it's  just  perfect  from  picture 
gallery  to  billiard  room.  As  for  adjuncts,  there's  a 
shooting  box  and  a  bona  fide  castle  in  the  Scottish 
Highlands,  a  cottage  at  Bar  Harbor  with  the  accessory 
of  a  steam  yacht,  and  a  racing  stud  on  a  Long  Island 
farm.  As  a  financier  he's  great !" 

He  sat  up  straight,  and  freely  used  his  fists,  first  on 
one  knee  then  on  the  other,  to  emphasize  his  words: 
"His  right  hand  is  on  one  great  lever  of  interstate 
traffic,  his  left  on  the  other  of  foreign  trade,  and  two 
continents  obey  his  manipulations.  His  eye  exacts 
trained  efficiency  from  thousands;  his  word  is  a  world 
event;  Wall  Street  is  his  automaton.  Oh,  the  power 
of  it  all !  I  can't  wait  to  get  out  into  the  stream,  mother ! 
I'm  only  hugging  the  shore  at  present;  that's  what 
has  made  me  kick  against  this  last  year  in  college; 
it  has  been  lost  time,  for  I  want  to  get  rich  quick." 

His  mother  laid  her  hand  on  his  knee.  "No,  Champ- 
ney,  it's  not  lost  time ;  it's  one  of  your  assets  as  a  gentle 
man." 

He  looked  up  at  her,  his  blue  eyes  smiling  into  her 
dark  ones. 


90  Flamsted  Quarries 

"I  can  be  a  gentleman  all  right  without  that  asset; 
you  said  father  did  n't  go." 

"No,  but  the  man  for  whom  you  are  named  went, 
and  he  told  me  once  a  college  education  was  a  '  gentle 
man's  asset.'  That  expression  was  his." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  that  the  asset  did  him  much  good. 
It  did  n't  seem  to  discount  his  liabilities  in  other  ways. 
Queer,  how  Uncle  Louis  went  to  seed  —  I  mean, 
did  n't  amount  to  anything  along  any  business  or  pro 
fessional  line.  Only  last  spring  I  met  the  father  of  a 
second-year  man  who  remembers  Uncle  Louis  well, 
said  he  was  a  classmate  of  his.  He  told  me  he  was 
banner  man  every  time  and  no  end  popular;  the 
others  did  n't  have  a  show  with  him." 

His  mother  was  silent.  Champney,  apparently  un 
heeding  her  unresponsiveness,  rose  quickly,  shook  him 
self  together,  and  suddenly  burst  into  a  mighty  laughter 
that  is  best  comparable  to  the  inextinguishable  species 
of  the  blessed  gods.  He  laughed  in  arpeggios,  peal  on 
peal,  crescendo  and  diminuendo,  until,  finally,  he  flung 
himself  down  on  the  short  turf  and  in  his  merriment 
rolled  over  and  over.  He  brought  himself  right  side  up 
at  last,  tears  in  his  eyes  and  a  sigh  of  satisfying  exhaus 
tion  on  his  lips.  To  his  mother's  laughing  query: 

"What  is  it  now,  Champney?"  He  shook  his  head 
as  if  words  failed  him ;  then  he  said  huskily : 

" It's  Aunt  Meda's  protegee.  Oh,  Great  Scott !  She'll 
be  the  death  by  shock  of  some  of  the  Champo  people 
if  she  stays  another  three  months.  I  hear  Aunt  Meda 
has  had  her  Waterloo.  Tavy  buttonholed  me  out  in 
the  carriage  house  yesterday,  and  told  me  the  whole 
thing  —  oh,  but  it's  rich!"  He  chuckled  again.  "He 
got  me  to  feel  his  vest;  says  he  can  lap  it  three  inches 
already  and  she  has  only  been  here  two  weeks;  and 


Flamsted  Quarries  91 

as  for  Romanzo,  he's  neither  to  have  nor  to  hold  when 
the  girl's  in  sight  —  wits  topsy-turvy,  actually,  oh, 
Lord  ! "  —  he  rolled  over  again  on  the  grass  —  "  what  do 
you  think,  mother!  She  got  Roman  to  scour  down 
Jim  —  you  know,  the  white  cart-horse,  the  Percheron  — 
with  Hannah's  cleaning  powder,  and  the  girl  helped 
him,  and  together  they  got  one  side  done  and  then 
waited  for  it  to  dry  to  see  how  it  worked.  Result: 
Tave  dead  ashamed  to  drive  him  in  the  cart  for  fear 
some  one  will  see  the  yellow-white  calico-circus  horse, 
that  the  two  rapscallions  have  left  on  his  hands,  and 
doesn't  want  Aunt  Meda  to  know  it  for  fear  she'll 
turn  down  Roman.  He  says  he's  going  to  put  Jim  out 
to  grass  in  the  Colonel's  back  sheep  pasture,  and  when 
Aunt  Meda  comes  home  lie  about  sudden  spavin  or 
something.  And  the  joke  of  it  is  Roman  takes  it  all 
as  a  part  of  the  play,  and  has  owned  up  to  Tave  that, 
by  mistake,  he  blacked  Aunt  Meda's  walking  boots, 
before  she  went  to  Hallsport,  with  axle  grease,  while 
the  girl  was  '  telling  novels '  to  him  !  Tave  said  Roman 
told  him  she  knew  a  lot  of  the  nobility,  marchionesses 
and  'sich';  and  now  Roman  struts  around  cocksure, 
high  and  mighty  as  if  he'd  just  been  made  K.C.B., 
and  there's  no  getting  any  steady  work  out  of  him. 
You  should  have  seen  Tave's  face  when  he  was  telling 
me!" 

His  mother  laughed.  "  I  can  imagine  it ;  he 's  worried 
over  this  new  move  of  Almeda's.  I  confess  it  puzzles 
me." 

"Well,  I'm  off  to  see  some  of  the  fun  —  and  the  girl. 
Tave  said  he  did  n't  expect  Aunt  Meda  before  to 
morrow  night,  and  it's  a  good  time  for  me  to  rubber 
round  the  old  place  a  little  on  my  own  hook ;  —  and, 
mother," — he  stooped  to  her;  Aurora  Googe  raised 


92  Flamsted  Quarries 

her  still  beautiful  eyes  to  the  frank  if  somewhat  hard 
blue  ones  that  looked  down  into  hers;  a  fine  color 
mounted  into  her  cheeks,  —  "  take  the  priest  for  his 
meals,  for  all  me.  It's  an  invasion,  but,  of  course,  I 
recognize  that  we're  responsible  for  it  on  account  of 
the  quarry  business.  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  make 
some  concessions  to  all  classes  till  we  get  away  from 
here  for  good  and  all  —  then  we  '11  have  our  fling, 
won't  we,  mother?" 

He  was  off  without  waiting  for  a  reply.  Aurora 
Googe  watched  him  out  of  sight,  then  turned  to  her 
work,  the  flush  still  upon  her  cheeks. 


V 

CHAMPNEY  leaned  on  the  gate  of  the  paddock 
at  Champ-au-Haut  and  looked  about  him. 
The  estate  at  The  Bow  had  been  familiar  to 
him  throughout  his  childhood  and  boyhood.  He  had 
been  over  every  foot  of  it,  and  at  all  seasons,  with  his 
Uncle  Louis.  He  was  realizing  that  it  had  never 
seemed  more  beautiful  to  him  than  now,  seen  in  the 
warm  light  of  a  July  sunset.  In  the  garden  pleasance, 
that  sloped  to  the  lake,  the  roses  and  lilies  planted 
there  a  generation  ago  still  bloomed  and  flourished, 
and  in  the  elm-shaded  paddock,  on  the  gate  of  which 
he  was  leaning,  filly  and  foal  could  trace  their  pedigree 
to  the  sixth  and  seventh  generation  of  deep-chested, 
clean-flanked  ancestors. 

The  young  man  comprehended  in  part  only,  the 
reason  of  his  mother's  extreme  bitterness  towards 
Almeda  Champney.  His  uncle  had  loved  him;  had 
kept  him  with  him  much  of  the  time,  encouraging  him 
in  his  boyish  aims  and  ambitions  which  his  mother 
fostered  —  and  Louis  Champney  was  childless,  the  last 
in  direct  descent  of  a  long  line  of  fine  ancestors  — . 

Here  his  thought  was  checked;  those  ancestors 
were  his,  only  in  a  generation  far  removed;  the 
Champney  blood  was  in  his  mother's  veins.  But  his 
father  was  Almeda  Champney's  only  brother  —  why 
then,  should  not  his  mother  count  on  the  estate  being 
his  in  the  end  ?  He  knew  this  to  have  been  her  hope, 


94  Flamsted  Quarries 

although  she  had  never  expressed  it.  He  had  gained 
an  indefinite  knowledge  of  it  through  old  Joel  Quimber 
and  Elmer  Wiggins  and  Mrs.  Milton  Caukins,  a  distant 
relative  of  his  father's.  To  be  sure,  Louis  Champney 
might  have  left  him  his  hunting-piece,  which  as  a  boy 
he  had  coveted,  just  for  the  sake  of  his  name  — 

He  stopped  short  in  his  speculations  for  he  heard 
voices  in  the  lane.  The  cows  were  entering  it  and 
coming  up  to  the  milking  shed.  The  lane  led  up  from 
the  low-lying  lake  meadows,  knee  deep  with  timothy 
and  clover,  and  was  fenced  on  both  sides  from  the 
apple  orchards  which  arched  and  overshadowed  its 
entire  length.  The  sturdy  over-reaching  boughs  hung 
heavy  with  myriads  of  green  balls.  Now  and  then 
one  dropped  noiselessly  on  the  thick  turf  in  the  lane, 
and  a  noble  Holstein  mother,  ebony  banded  with  ivory 
white,  her  swollen  cream-colored  bag  and  dark -blotched 
teats  flushed  through  and  through  by  the  delicate  rose 
of  a  perfectly  healthy  skin,  lowered  her  meek  head 
and,  snuffing  largely,  caught  sideways  as  she  passed  at 
the  enticing  green  round. 

At  the  end  of  this  lane  there  swung  into  view  a  tall 
loose- jointed  figure  which  the  low  strong  July  sunshine 
threw  into  bold  relief.  It  was  Romanzo  Caukins,  one 
of  the  Colonel's  numerous  family,  a  boy  of  sixteen  who 
had  been  bound  out  recently  to  the  mistress  of  Champ- 
au-Haut  upon  agreement  of  bed,  board,  clothes,  three 
terms  of  "schooling"  yearly,  and  the  addition  of  thirty 
dollars  to  be  paid  annually  to  the  Colonel. 

The  payment  of  this  amount,  by  express  stipulation, 
was  to  be  made  at  the  end  of  each  year  until  Romanzo 
should  come  into  his  majority.  By  this  arrangement, 
Mrs.  Champney  assured  to  herself  the  interest  on  the 
aforesaid  thirty  dollars,  and  congratulated  herself  on 


Flamsted  Quarries  95 

the  fact  that  such  increment  might  be  credited  to  Milton 
Caukins  as  a  minus  quantity. 

Champney  leaped  the  bars  and  went  down  the  lane 
to  meet  him. 

"Hello,  Roman,  how  are  you?" 

The  boy's  honest  blue  eyes,  that  seemed  always  to  be 
looking  forward  in  a  chronic  state  of  expectancy  for 
the  unexpected,  beamed  with  goodness  and  goodwill. 
He  wiped  his  hands  on  his  overalls  and  clasped 
Champney's. 

"Hullo,  Champ,  when  'd  you  come?" 

"  Only  yesterday.  I  did  n't  see  you  about  when  I 
was  here  in  the  afternoon.  How  do  you  like  your 
job?" 

The  youth  made  an  uncouth  but  expressive  sign 
towards  the  milk  shed.  "Sh  —  Tave'll  hear  you.  He 
and  I  ain't  been  just  on  good  terms  lately;  but  'tain't 
my  fault,"  he  added  doggedly. 

At  that  moment  a  clear  childish  voice  called  from 
somewhere  below  the  lane : 

"  Romanzo  —  Romanzo  !" 

The  boy  started  guiltily.  "I've  .got  to  go,  Champ; 
she  wants  me." 

Champney  seized  him  with  a  strong  hand  by  the 
suspenders.  "Here,  hold  on!  Who,  you  gump?" 

"The  girl  —  le'  me  go."  But  Champney  gripped 
him  fast. 

"No,  you  don't,  Roman;  let  her  yell." 

"Ro — man — zo-o-o-o!"  The  range  of  this  peremp 
tory  call  was  two  octaves  at  least. 

"By  gum  —  she's  up  to  something,  and  Tave  won't 
stand  any  more  fooling  —  le'  me  go!"  He  writhed  in 
the  strong  grasp. 

"I  won't  either.    I  have  n't  been  half-back  on  our 


96  Flamsted  Quarries 

team  for  nothing;  so  stand  still."  And  Romanzo 
stood  still,  perforce. 

Another  minute  and  Aileen  came  running  up  the  lane. 
She  was  wearing  the  same  heavy  shoes,  the  same  dark 
blue  cotton  dress,  half  covered  now  with  a  gingham 
apron  —  Mrs.  Champney  had  not  deemed  it  expedient 
to  furnish  a  wardrobe  until  the  probation  period  should 
have  decided  her  for  or  against  keeping  the  child. 
She  was  bareheaded,  her  face  flushed  with  the  heat 
and  her  violent  exercise.  She  stopped  short  at  a  little 
distance  from  them  so  soon  as  she  saw  that  Romanzo 
was  not  alone.  She  tossed  back  her  braid  and  stamped 
her  foot  to  emphasize  her  words : 

"Why  didn't  yer  come,  Romanzo  Caukins,  when  I 
cried  ter  yer!" 

"'Coz  I  could  n't;  he  would  n't  let  me."  He  spoke 
anxiously,  making  signs  towards  the  shed.  But  Aileen 
ignored  them;  ignored,  also,  the  fact  that  any  one  was 
present  besides  her  slave. 

Champney  answered  for  himself.  He  promptly 
bared  his  head  and  advanced  to  shake  hands;  but 
Aileen  jerked  hers  behind  her. 

"I'm  Mr.  Champney  Googe,  at  your  service.  Who 
are  you?" 

The  little  girl  was  sizing  him  up  before  she  accepted 
the  advance;  Champney  could  tell  by  the  "East-side" 
look  with  which  she  favored  him. 

"I'm  Miss  Aileen  Armagh,  and  don't  yer  forget  it !  — 
at  your  service."  She  mimicked  him  so  perfectly  that 
Champney  chuckled  and  Romanzo  doubled  up  in  silent 
glee. 

"I  sha'n't  be  apt  to,  thank  you.  Come,  let's  shake 
hands,  Miss  Aileen  Armagh-and-don't-yer-forget-it, 
for  we've  got  to  be  friends  if  you're  to  stay  here  with 


Flamsted  Quarries  97 

my  aunt."  He  held  out  both  hands.  But  the  little 
girl  kept  her  own  obstinately  behind  her  and  backed 
away  from  him. 

"I  can't." 

"Why  not?" 

"'Coz  they're  all  stuck  up  with  spruce  gum  and 
Octavius  said  nothing  would  take  it  off  but  grease, 
and —  '  she  turned  suddenly  upon  Romanzo,  blazing 
out  upon  him  in  her  wrath  —  "I  hollered  ter  yer  so's 
yer  could  get  some  for  me  from  Hannah,  and  you  wras 
just  dirt  mean  not  to  answer  me." 

'Champ  would  n't  let  me  go,"  said  Romanzo  sulkily; 
"besides,  I  dass  n't  ask  Hannah,  not  since  I  used  the 
harness  cloth  she  gave  to  clean  down  Jim." 

"Yer  'dass  n't!'  Fore  I'd  be  a  boy  and  say  'I 
dass 'n't !":  There  was  inexpressible  scorn  in  her 
voice.  She  turned  to  Champney,  her  eyes  brimming 
with  mischief  and  flashing  a  challenge : 

"And  yer  dass  n't  shake  hands  with  me  'coz  mine 
are  all  stuck  up,  so  now !" 

Champney  had  not  anticipated  this  pronunciamento, 
but  he  accepted  the  challenge  on  the  instant.  "Dare 
not !  You  can't  say  that  to  me !  Here,  give  me  your 
hands."  Again  he  held  out  his  shapely  well-kept 
members,  and  Aileen  with  a  merry  laugh  brought  her 
grimy  sticky  little  paws  into  view  and,  without  a  word, 
laid  them  in  Champney's  palms.  He  held  them  close, 
purposely,  that  they  might  adhere  and  provide  him 
with  some  fun;  then,  breaking  into  his  gay  laugh  he 
said: 

"  Clear  out,  Roman ;  Tave  '11  be  looking  for  the  milk 
pails.  As  for  you,  Miss  Aileen  Armagh-and-don't-yer- 
forget-it,  you  can't  pull  away  from  me  now.  So,  come 
on,  and  we  '11  get  Hannah  to  give  us  some  lard  and  then 


98  Flamsted  Quarries 

we'll  go  down  to  the  boat  house  where  it  is  cool  and 
cleanup.  Come  on!" 

Holding  her  by  both  hands  he  raced  her  down  the 
long  lane,  through  the  vegetable  garden,  all  chassez, 
down  the  middle,  swing  your  partner  —  Aileen  wild 
with  the  fun  —  up  the  slate-laid  kitchen  walk  to  the 
kitchen  door.  His  own  laughter  and  the  child's,  happy, 
merry,  care-free,  rang  out  peal  on  peal  till  Ann  and 
Hannah  and  Octavius  paused  in  their  work  to  listen, 
and  wished  that  such  music  might  have  been  heard 
often  during  their  long  years  of  faithful  sendee  in 
childless  Champ-au-Haut. 

"  I  hear  you  are  acquainted  with  some  of  the  nobility, 
marchionesses  and  so  forth,"  said  Champney;  the  two 
were  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the  boat  house  cleaning 
their  fingers  with  the  lard  Hannah  had  provided. 
"Where  did  you  make  their  acquaintance?" 

Aileen  paused  in  the  act  of  sliding  her  greasy  hands 
rapidly  over  and  over  in  each  other,  an  occupation  which 
afforded  her  unmixed  delight,  to  look  up  at  him  in 
amazement.  "How  did  yer  know  anything  'bout 
her?" 

"Oh,  I  heard." 

"Did  Romanzo  Caukins  tell  yer?"  she  demanded, 
as  usual  on  the  defensive. 

"No,  oh  no;  it  was  only  hearsay.  Do  tell  me  about 
her.  We  don't  have  any  round  here." 

Aileen  giggled  and  resumed  the  rapid  rotary  motion 
of  her  still  unwashed  hands.  "If  I  tell  yer  'bout  her, 
yer '11  tell  her  I  told  yer.  P'raps  sometime,  if  yer  ever 
go  to  New  York,  yer  might  see  her;  and  she  would  n't 
like  it." 

"How  do  you  know  but  what  I  have  seen  her?  I've 
just  come  from  there." 


Flamsted  Quarries  99 

Aileen  looked  her  surprise  again.  "That's  queer, 
for  I've  just  landed  from  New  York  meself." 

"So  I  understood;  does  the  marchioness  live  there 
too?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  ain't  going  to  tell  yer;  but 
I'll  tell  yer  'bout  some  others  I  know." 

"That  live  in  New  York?" 

"Wot  yer  giving  me?"  She  laughed  merrily;  "they 
live  where  the  Dagos  live,  in  Italy,  yer  know,  and  —  " 

"Italy?    What  are  they  doing  over  there?" 

" —  And  —  just  yer  wait  till  I'll  tell  yer  —  they  live 
on  an  island  in  a  be-ee-u-tiful  lake,  like  this;"  she 
looked  approvingly  at  the  liquid  mirror  that  reflected 
in  its  rippleless  depths  the  mountain  shadow  and 
sunset  gold;  "and  they  live  in  great  marble  houses, 
palaces,  yer  know,  and  flower  gardens,  and  wear  noth 
ing  but  silks  and  velvet  and  pearls,  ropes,  —  yer  mind  ? 
—  ropes  of  'em ;  and  the  lords  and  ladies  have  con 
certs,  yer  know,  better  'n  in  the  thayertre  — 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  theatre?"  Champney 
was  genuinely  surprised;  "I  thought  you  came  from 
an  orphan  asylum." 

"Yer  did,  did  yer!"  There  was  scorn  in  her  voice. 
"  Wot  do  I  know  'bout  the  thayertre  ?  —  Oh,  but  yer 
green!"  She  broke  into  another  merry  laugh  which, 
together  with  the  patronage  of  her  words  and  certain 
unsavory  memories  of  his  own,  nettled  Champney  more 
than  he  would  have  cared  to  acknowledge. 

"Better 'n  the  thayertre,"  she  repeated  emphatically; 
"  and  the  lords  serenade  the  ladies  —  Do  yer  know  wot 
a  serenade  is?"  She  interrupted  herself  to  ask  the 
question  with  a  strong  doubt  in  the  interrogation. 

"I've  heard  of  'em,"  said  Champney  meekly;  "but 
I  don't  think  I've  ever  seen  one." 


ioo  Flamsted  Quarries 

"I'll  tell  yer  'bout  'em.  The  lords  have  guitars  and 
go  out  in  the  moonlight  and  stand  under  the  ladies' 
windys  and  play,  and  the  ladies  make  believe  they 
have  n't  heard ;  then  they  look  up  all  round  at  the 
moon  and  sigh  awful,  —  "  she  sighed  in  sympathy,  — 
"and  then  the  lords  begin  to  sing  and  tell  'em  they 
love  'em  and  can't  live  without  a  —  a  token.  I  '11  bet 
yer  don't  know  wot  that  is?" 

"No,  of  course  I  don't;  I'm  not  a  lord,  and  I  don't 
live  in  Italy." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  yer."  Her  tone  was  one  of  relenting 
indulgence  for  his  ignorance.  "Sometimes  it's  a  bow 
that  they  make  out  of  the  ribbon  their  dresses  is  trimmed 
with,  and  sometimes  it's  a  flowrer,  a  rose,  yer  know; 
and  the  lord  sings  again  —  can  yer  sing?" 

Her  companion  repressed  a  smile.  "I  can  manage 
a  tune  or  two  at  a  pinch." 

"And  the  lady  comes  out  on  the  balcony  and  leans 
over  —  like  this,  yer  know;"  she  jumped  up  and  leaned 
over  the  rail  of  the  float,  keeping  her  hands  well  in 
front  of  her  to  save  her  apron;  "and  she  listens  and 
keeps  looking,  and  when  he  sings  he's  going  to  die 
because  he  loves  her  so,  she  throws  the  token  down 
to  him  to  let  him  know  he  must  n't  die  'coz  she  loves 
him  too;  and  he  catches  it,  the  rose,  yer  know,  and 
smells  it  and  then  he  kisses  it  and  squeezes  it  against 
his  heart  —  "  she  forgot  her  greasy  hands  in  the  rapture 
of  this  imaginative  flight,  and  pressed  them  theatrically 
over  her  gingham  apron  beneath  which  her  own  little 
organ  was  pulsing  quick  with  the  excitement  of  this 
telling  moment;  " — and  then  the  moon  shines  just 
as  bright  as  silver  and  —  and  she  marries  him." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath.  During  the  recital  she  had 
lost  herself  in  the  personating  of  the  favorite  char- 


Flamsted  Quarries  101 

acters  from  her  one  novel.  While  she  stood  there 
looking  out  on  the  lake  and  the  Flamsted  Hills  with 
eyes  that  were  still  seeing  the  gardens  and  marble  ter 
races  of  Isola  Bella,  Champney  Googe  had  time  to  fix 
that  picture  on  his  mental  retina  and,  recalling  it  in 
after  years,  knew  that  the  impression  was  "more 
lasting  than  bronze." 

She  came  rather  suddenly  to  herself  when  she  grew 
aware  of  her  larded  hands  pressed  against  her  clean 
apron. 

"Oh,  gracious,  but  I'll  catch  it!"  she  exclaimed 
ruefully.  "Wot '11 1  do  now?  She  said  I'd  got  to  keep 
it  clean  till  she  got  back,  and  she  '11  fire  me  and  —  and 
I  want  to  stay  awful;  it's  just  like  the  story,  yer  know." 
She  raised  her  gray  eyes  appealingly  to  his,  and  he  saw 
at  once  ,that  her  childish  fear  was  real.  He  comforted 
her. 

"I'll  tell  you  what:  we'll  go  back  to  Hannah  and 
she'll  fix  it  for  you;  and  if  it's  spoiled  I'll  go  down 
and  get  some  like  it  in  the  village  and  my  mother  will 
make  you  a  new  one.  So,  cheer  up,  Miss  Aileen  Armagh 
and-don't-yer-forget-it !  And  to-morrow  evening,  if  the 
moon  is  out,  we'll  have  a  serenade  all  by  ourselves; 
what  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"D'  yer  mane  it?"  she  demanded,  half  breathless 
in  her  earnestness. 

He  nodded. 

Aileen  clapped  her  hands  and  began  to  dance;  then 
she  stopped  suddenly  to  say:  "I  ain't  going  to  dance 
for  yer  now;  but  I  will  sometime,"  she  added  gra 
ciously.  "I've  got  to  go  now  and  help  Ann.  What  time 
are  yer  coming  for  the  serenade?" 

"I'll  be  here  about  eight;  the  moon  will  be  out  by 
then  and  we  must  have  a  moon." 


IO2  Flamsted  Quarries 

She  started  away  on  the  run,  beckoning  to  him  with 
her  unwashed  hands:  "Come  on,  then,  till  I  show  yer 
my  windy.  It's  the  little  one  over  the  dining-room. 
There  ain't  a  balcony,  but  —  see  there!  there's  the 
top  of  the  bay  windy  and  I  can  lean  out  —  why  did  n't 
yer  tell  me  yer  could  play  the  guitar?" 

"Because  I  can't." 

"A  harp,  belike?" 

"No;  guess  again." 

"Yer  no  good;  —  but  yer '11  come?" 

"Shurre;  an'  more  be  token  it's  at  eight  'o  the  clock 
Oi'll  be  under  yer  windy."  He  gave  the  accent  with 
such  Celtic  gusto  that  the  little  girl  was  captivated. 

"Ain't  you  a  corker!"  she  said  admiringly  and, 
waving  her  hand  again  to  him,  ran  to  the  house. 
Champney  followed  more  slowly  to  lay  the  case  before 
Ann  and  Hannah. 

On  his  way  homeward  he  found  himself  wondering 
if  he  had  ever  seen  the  child  before.  As  she  leaned 
on  the  rail  and  looked  out  over  the  lake,  a  certain 
grace  of  attitude,  which  the  coarse  clothing  failed  to 
conceal,  the  rapt  expression  in  the  eyes,  the  timbre  of 
her  voice,  all  awakened  a  dim  certainty  that  he  had 
seen  her  before  at  some  time  and  place  distinctly  un 
usual;  but  where?  He  turned  the  search-light  of 
concentrated  thought  upon  his  comings  and  goings 
and  doings  during  the  last  year  and  more.  Where  had 
he  seen  just  such  a  child? 

He  looked  up  from  the  roadway,  on  which  his  eyes 
had  been  fixed  while  his  absent  thought  was  making 
back  tracks  over  the  last  twelve  months,  and  saw  before 
him  the  high  pastures  of  The  Gore.  In  the  long  after 
glow  of  the  July  sunset  they  enamelled  the  barren 
heights  with  a  rich,  yellowish  green.  In  a  flash  it 


Flamsted  Quarries  103 

came  to  him:  "The  green  hill  far  away  without  a 
city  wall";  the  child  singing  on  the  vaudeville  stage; 
the  hush  in  the  audience.  He  smiled  to  himself.  He 
was  experiencing  that  satisfaction  which  is  common  to 
all  who  have  run  down  the  quarry  of  a  long-hunted 
recollection. 

"  She's  the  very  one,"  he  said  to  himself;  "I  wonder 
if  Aunt  Meda  knows." 


VI 

THAT  which  proves  momentous  in  our  lives 
is  rarely  anticipated,  seldom  calculated.  Its 
factors  are  for  the  most  part  unknown 
quantities ;  if  not  prime  in  themselves  they  are,  at  least, 
prime  to  each  other.  It  cannot  be  measured  in  terms 
of  time,  for  often  it  lies  between  two  infinities.  But 
the  momentous  decision,  event,  action,  which  reacts 
upon  the  life  of  a  man  or  woman  and  influences  that 
life  so  long  as  it  is  lived  here  on  earth,  is  on  the  sur 
face  sufficiently  finite  for  us  to  say:  It  was  on  such  a 
day  I  made  my  decision;  to  such  and  such  an  event 
I  can  look  back  as  the  cause  of  all  that  has  followed. 
The  How  thereof  remains  traceable  to  our  purblind 
eyes  for  a  month,  a  term  of  years,  one  generation, 
possibly  two;  the  Where  and  When  can  generally  be 
defined;  but  the  Why  we  ask  blindly,  and  are  rarely 
answered  satisfactorily. 

Had  young  Googe  been  told,  while  he  was  walking 
homewards  up  The  Gore,  that  his  life  line,  like  the 
antenna  of  the  wireless,  was  even  then  the  recipient 
and  transmitter  of  multiple  influences  that  had  been, 
as  it  were,  latent  in  the  storage  batteries  of  a  generation ; 
that  what  he  was  to  be  in  the  future  was  at  this  very 
hour  in  germ  for  development,  he  would  have  scouted 
the  idea.  His  young  self-sufficiency  would  have  laughed 
the  teller  to  scorn.  He  would  have  maintained  as  a 
man  his  mastership  of  his  fate  and  fortunes,  and 
whistled  as  carelessly  as  he  whistled  now  for  the  puppy, 


Flamsted  Quarries  105 

an  Irish  terrier  which  he  had  brought  home  with  him, 
for  training,  to  come  and  meet  him. 

And  the  puppy,  whose  name  was  Ragamuffin  and 
called  Rag  for  short,  came  duly,  unknowing,  like  his 
young  master,  to  meet  his  fate.  He  wriggled  broad 
side  down  the  walk  as  a  puppy  will  in  his  first  joy 
till,  overpowered  by  his  emotions,  he  rolled  over  on 
his  back  at  Champney's  feet,  the  fringes  of  his  four 
legs  waving  madly  in  air. 

"  Champney,  I  'm  waiting  for  you."  It  was  his  mother 
calling  from  the  door.  He  ran  in  through  the  kitchen, 
and  hurried  to  make  himself  presentable  for  the  table 
and  their  guest  whom  he  saw  on  the  front  porch. 

As  he  entered  the  dining-room,  his  mother  introduced 
him:  "Father  Honore,  my  son,  Champney." 

The  two  men  shook  hands,  and  Mrs.  Googe  took  her 
seat.  The  priest  bowed  his  head  momentarily  to 
make  the  sign  of  the'cross.  Champney  Googe  shot  one 
keen,  amazed  look  in  his  direction.  When  that  head 
was  lifted  Champney  "opened  fire,"  so  he  termed  it 
to  himself. 

"I  think  I've  seen  you  before,  sir."  It  was  hard  for 
him  to  give  the  title  "Father."  "I  got  in  your  way, 
did  n't  I,  at  the  theatre  one  evening  over  a  year  ago?" 

His  mother  looked  at  him  in  amazement  and  some 
thing  of  anxiety.  Was  her  son  in  his  prejudice  for 
getting  himself? 

"Indeed,  I  think  it  was  the  other  way  round.  I  was 
in  your  way,  for  I  remember  thinking  when  you  ran 
up  against  me  'that  young  fellow  has  been  half-back 
on  a  football  team.'" 

Champney  laughed.  There  was  no  withstanding 
this  man's  voice  and  the  veiled  humor  of  his  intro- 
ductorv  remarks. 


106  Flamsted  Quarries 

"  Did  I  hit  hard  ?  I  did  n't  think  for  a  moment 
that  you  would  recognize  me ;  but  I  knew  you  as  soon 
as  mother  introduced  us.  I  see  by  your  face,  mother, 
that  you  need  enlightening.  It  was  only  that  I  met 
Father  Honore" —  he  brought  that  out  with  no  hesi 
tation —  "at  the  entrance  to  one  of  the  New  York 
theatres  over  a  year  ago,  and  in  the  crowd  nearly  ran 
him  down.  No  wonder,  sir,  you  sized  me  up  by  the 
pressure  as  a  football  fiend.  That's  rich  !"  His  merry 
laugh  reassured  his  mother;  she  turned  to  Father 
Honore. 

"I  don't  know  whether  all  my  son's  acquaintances 
are  made  at  the  theatre  or  not,  but  it  is  a  coincidence 
that  the  other  day  he  happened  to  mention  the  fact 
that  the  first  time  he  saw  Mr.  Van  Ostend  he  saw  him 
there." 

"It's  my  strong  impression,  Mrs.  Googe,  that  Mr. 
Googe  saw  us  both  at  the  same  place,  at  the  same 
time.  Mr.  Van  Ostend  spoke  to  me  of  your  son  just 
a  few  days  before  I  left  New  York." 

"Did  he?"  Champney's  eager  blue  eyes  sought 
the  priest's.  "Do  you  know  him  well?" 

"As  we  all  know  him  through  his  place  in  the  world 
of  affairs.  Personally  I  have  met  him  only  a  few  times. 
You  may  know,  perhaps,  that  he  was  instrumental 
in  placing  little  Aileen  Armagh,  the  orphan  child,  — 
you  know  whom  I  mean  ?  —  at  Mrs.  Champney's,  your 
aunt,  Mrs.  Googe  tells  me." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  if  you  would  be  willing 
to  tell  us  something  about  her,"  said  Mrs.  Googe.  "  I ' ve 
not  seen  her,  but  from  all  I  hear  she  is  a  most  unusual 
child,  most  interesting  —  " 

"Interesting,  mother!"  Champney  interrupted  her 
rather  explosively;  "she's  unique,  the  only  and  ever 


Flamsted  Quarries  107 

Aileen  Armagh."  He  turned  again  to  Father  Honore. 
"Do  tell  us  about  her;  I've  been  so  blockheaded  I 
could  n't  put  two  and  two  together,  but  I'm  beginning 
to  see  daylight  at  last.  I  made  her  acquaintance  this 
afternoon.  That's  why  I  was  a  little  late,  mother." 

How  we  tell,  even  the  best  of  us,  with  reserves ! 
Father  Honore  told  of  his  interest  being  roused,  as 
well  as  his  suspicions,  by  the  wording  of  the  poster, 
and  of  his  determination  to  see  for  himself  to  what 
extent  the  child  was  being  exploited.  But  of  the 
thought-lever,  the  "Little  Trout",  that  raised  that 
interest,  he  made  no  mention;  nor,  indeed,  was  it 
necessary. 

"You  see  there  is  a  class  of  foreigners  on  the  East 
side  that  receive  commissions  for  exploiting  preco 
cious  children  on  the  stage;  they  are  very  clever  in 
evading  the  law.  The  children  themselves  are  help 
less.  I  had  looked  up  a  good  many  cases  before  this 
because  it  was  in  my  line  of  work,  and  in  this  particular 
one  I  found  that  the  child  had  been  orphaned  in 
Ireland  almost  from  her  birth;  that  an  aunt,  without 
relatives,  had  emigrated  with  her  only  a  few  months 
before  I  saw  her  on  the  stage,  and  the  two  had  lived 
in  an  east  side  tenement  with  an  old  Italian.  The  child's 
aunt,  a  young  woman  about  twenty-eight,  developed 
quick  consumption  during  the  winter  and  died  in  the 
care  of  the  Italian,  Nonna  Lisa  they  call  her.  This 
woman  cared  for  the  little  girl,  and  began  to  take  her 
out  with  her  early  in  March  on  the  avenues  and  streets 
of  the  upper  west  side.  The  old  woman  is  an  itinerant 
musician  and  plays  the  guitar  with  real  feeling  — 
I've  heard  her  —  and,  by  the  way,  makes  a  decent 
little  living  of  her  own.  She  found  that  Aileen  had 
a  good  voice  and  could  sing  several  Irish  songs.  She 


io8  Flamsted  Quarries 

learned  the  accompaniments,  and  the  two  led,  so  far 
as  I  can  discover,  a  delightful  life  of  vagabondage 
for  several  weeks.  It  seems  the  old  Italian  has  a 
grandson,  Luigi,  who  sings  in  vaudeville  with  a  trav 
elling  troop.  He  was  in  the  west  and  south  during 
the  entire  time  that  Aileen  was  with  his  grandmother; 
and  through  her  letters  he  learned  of  the  little  girl's 
voice.  He  spoke  of  this  to  his  manager,  and  he  com 
municated  with  the  manager  of  a  Broadway  vaude 
ville  —  they  are  both  in  the  vaudeville  trust  —  and 
asked  him  to  engage  her,  and  retain  her  for  the  troop 
when  they  should  start  on  their  annual  autumn  tour. 
But  Nonna  Lisa  was  shrewd.  —  It's  wonderful,  Mrs. 
Googe,  how  quickly  they  develop  the  sixth  sense  of 
cautious  speculation  after  landing !  She  made  a  con 
tract  for  six  weeks  only,  hoping  to  raise  her  price  in 
the  autumn.  So  I  found  that  the  child  was  not  being 
exploited,  except  legitimately,  by  the  old  Italian  who 
was  caring  for  her  and  guarding  her  from  all  contam 
ination.  But,  of  course,  that  could  not  go  on,  and  I 
had  the  little  girl  placed  in  the  orphan  asylum  on 

nd  Street  —  "  He  interrupted  himself  to  say  half 

apologetically : 

"I  am  prolix,  I  fear,  but  I  am  hoping  you  will  be 
personally  interested  in  this  child  whose  future  life 
will,  I  trust,  be  spent  here  far  away  from  the  metro 
politan  snares.  I  am  sure  she  is  worth  your  interest." 

"I  know  she  is,"  said  Champney  emphatically; 
"and  the  more  we  know  of  her  the  better.  You'll 
laugh  at  my  experience  when  you  have  heard  it;  but 
first  let  us  have  the  whole  of  yours." 

"You  know,  of  course,  where  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
lives?"  Champney  nodded.  "Did  you  happen  to 

notice  the  orphan  asylum  just  opposite  on  nd 

Street?" 


Flamsted  Quarries  109 

"No;  I  don't  recall  any  building  of  that  sort." 

He  smiled.  "Probably  not;  that  is  not  in  your  line 
and  we  men  are  apt  to  see  only  what  is  in  the  line  of 
our  working  vision.  It  seems  that  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
has  a  little  girl  — " 

"I  know,  that's  the  Alice  I  told  you  of,  mother; 
did  you  see  her  when  she  was  here  last  month?" 

"No;  I  only  met  Mr.  Van  Ostend  on  business. 
You  were  saying  — ?"  She  addressed  Father  Honore. 

"His  little  daughter  told  him  so  much  about  two 
orphan  children,  with  whom  she  had  managed  to  have 
a  kind  of  across-street-and-window  acquaintance,  that 
he  proposed  to  her  to  have  the  children  over  for 
Christmas  luncheon.  The  moment  he  saw  Aileen,  he 
recognized  in  her  the  child  on  the  vaudeville  stage  to 
whom  he  had  given  the  flowers  —  You  remember  that 
incident?" 

"  Don't  I  though  !  " 

" — Because  she  had  sung  his  wife's  favorite  hymn. 
He  was  thoroughly  interested  in  the  child  after  seeing 
her,  so  to  say,  at  close  range,  and  took  the  first  op 
portunity  to  speak  with  the  Sister  Superior  in  regard 
to  rinding  for  her  a  suitable  and  permanent  home. 
The  Sister  Superior  referred  him  to  me.  As  you  know, 
he  came  to  Flamsted  recently  with  this  same  little 
daughter;  and  the  child  talked  so  much  and  told  so 
many  amusing  things  about  Aileen  to  Mrs.  Champney, 
that  Mr.  Van  Ostend  saw  at  once  this  was  an  op 
portunity  to  further  his  plans,  although  he  confided  to 
me  his  surprise  that  his  cousin,  Mrs.  Champney,  should 
be  willing  to  have  so  immature  a  child,  in  her  house. 
Directly  on  getting  home,  he  telephoned  to  me  that  he 
had  found  a  home  for  her  with  a  relation  of  his  in 
Flamsted.  You  may  judge  of  my  surprise  and  pleasure, 


1 1  o  Flamsted  Quarries 

for  I  had  received  the  appointment  to  this  place  and 
the  work  among  the  quarrymen  only  a  month  before. 
This  is  how  the  little  girl  happened  to  come  up  with 
me.  I  hear  she  is  making  friends." 

"She  can't  help  making  them,  and  a  good  deal  more 
besides;  for  Romanzo  Caukins,  our  neighbor's  son, 
and  Octavius  Buzzby,  my  aunt's  charge  d'affaires,  are 
at  the  present  time  her  abject  slaves,"  said  Champney, 
rising  from  the  table  at  a  signal  from  his  mother. 
"Let's  go  out  on  the  porch,  and  I'll  tell  you  of  the 
fun  I've  had  with  her  —  poor  Roman!"  He  shook 
his  head  and  chuckled. 

He  stepped  into  the  living-room  as  he  passed  through 
the  hall  and  reached  for  his  pipe  in  a  rack  above  the 
mantel.  "  Do  you  smoke,"  he  asked  half-hesitatingly, 
but  with  an  excess  of  courtesy  in  his  voice  as  if  he  were 
apologizing  for  asking  such  a  question. 

"Sometimes;  a  pipe,  if  you  please."  He  held  out 
his  hand;  Champney  handed  him  a  sweetbrier  and  a 
tobacco  pouch.  "You  permit,  Madam?"  He  spoke 
with  old  world  courtesy.  Aurora  Googe  smiled  per 
mission.  She  saw  with  satisfaction  her  son's  puzzled 
look  of  inquiry  as  he  noted  the  connoisseurship  with 
which  Father  Honore  handled  his  after-supper  tools. 

Mrs.  Milton  Caukins,  their  neighbor  in  the  stone 
house  across  the  bridge  over  the  Rothel,  stood  for 
several  minutes  at  her  back  door  listening  to  Champ- 
ney's  continued  arpeggios  and  wondered  whose  was 
the  deep  hearty  laugh  that  answered  them.  In  telling 
his  afternoon's  experience  Champney,  also,  had  his 
reserves :  of  the  coming  serenade  he  said  never  a  word 
to  the  priest. 

"He's  O.K.  and  a  man,  mother,"  was  his  comment 
on  their  guest,  as  he  bade  her  good  night.  Aurora 


Flamsted  Quarries  1 1 1 

Googe  answered  him  with  a  smile  that  betokened 
content,  but  she  was  wise  enough  not  to  commit  her 
self  in  words.  Afterwards  she  sat  long  in  her  room, 
planning  for  her  son's  future.  The  twenty  thousand 
she  had  just  received  for  the  undeveloped  quarry  lands 
should  serve  to  start  him  well  in  life. 


VII 

ON  the  following  day,  mother  and  son  consti 
tuted  themselves  a  committee  of  ways  and 
means  as  to  the  best  investment  of  the 
money  in  furtherance  of  Champney's  interests.  Her 
ambition  was  gratified  in  that  she  saw  him  anxious 
to  take  his  place  in  the  world  of  affairs,  to  "get  on" 
and,  as  he  said,  make  his  mark  early  in  the  world  of 
finance. 

The  fact  that,  during  his  college  course,  he  had 
spent  [the  five  thousand  received  from  the  sale  of  the 
first  quarry,  plus  the  interest  on  the  same  without  ac 
counting  for  a  penny  of  it,  seemed  to  his  mother 
perfectly  legitimate;  for  she  had  sold  the  land  and 
laid  by  the  amount  paid  for  it  in  order  to  put  her 
son  through  college.  Since  he  was  twelve  years  old 
she  had  brought  him  up  in  the  knowledge  that  it  was 
to  be  his  for  that  purpose.  From  the  time  he  came, 
through  her  generosity,  into  possession  of  the  property, 
she  always  replied  to  those  who  had  the  courage  to 
criticise  her  course  in  placing  so  large  a  sum  at  the 
disposal  of  a  youth : 

"  My  son  is  a  man.  I  realize  I  can  suggest,  but  not 
dictate;  moreover  I  have  no  desire  to." 

She  drew  the  line  there,  and  rarely  had  any  one 
dared  to  expostulate  further  with  her.  When  they 
ventured  it,  Aurora  Googe  turned  upon  them  those 
dark  eyes,  in  which  at  such  times  there  burned  a 


Flamsted  Quarries  i  T3 

seemingly  unquenchable  light  of  self-feeding  defiance, 
and  gave  them  to  understand,  with  a  repelling  dig 
nity  of  manner  that  bordered  hard  on  haughtiness, 
that  what  she  and  her  son  might  or  might  not 
do  was  no  one's  concern  but  their  own.  This 
self-evident  truth,  when  it  struck  home  to  her  well- 
wishers,  made  her  no  friends.  Nor  did  she  regret 
this.  She  had  dwelt,  as  it  were,  apart,  since  her 
marriage  and  early  widowhood  —  her  husband  had 
died  seven  months  before  Champney  was  born  —  on  the 
old  Googe  estate  at  The  Gore.  But  she  was  a  good 
neighbor,  as  Mrs.  Caukins  could  testify;  paid  her 
taxes  promptly,  and  minded  her  flocks,  the  source  of 
her  limited  income,  until  wool-raising  in  New  England 
became  unprofitable.  An  opportunity  was  presented 
when  her  boy  was  ten  years  old  to  sell  a  portion  of 
the  barren  sheep  pastures  for  the  first  quarry.  She 
counted  herself  fortunate  in  being  able  thus  to  provide 
for  Champney's  four  college  years. 

In  all  the  village,  there  were  only  three  men, 
whom  Aurora  Googe  named  friend.  These  men,  with 
the  intimacy  born  of  New  England's  community 
of  interest,  called  her  to  her  face  by  her  Christian 
name;  they  were  Octavius  Buzzby,  old  Joel  Quimber, 
and  Colonel  Caukins.  There  had  been  one  other, 
Louis  Champney,  who  during  his  lifetime  promised 
to  do  much  for  her  boy  when  he  should  have  come  of 
age;  but  as  the  promises  were  never  committed  to 
black  and  white,  they  were,  after  his  death,  as  though 
they  had  never  been. 

"If  only  Aunt  Meda  would  fork  over  some  of  hers !" 
Champney  exclaimed  with  irritation.  They  were 
sitting  on  the  porch  after  tea.  "All  I  want  is  a  seat 
in  the  Stock  Exchange  —  and  the  chance  to  start  in. 


114  Flamsted  Quarries 

I  believe  if  I  had  the  money  Mr.  Van  Ostend  would 
help  me  to  that." 

"  You  did  n't  say  anything  to  him  about  your  plans, 
did  you?" 

"Well,  no;  not  exactly.  But  it  isn't  every  fellow 
gets  a  chance  to  dine  at  such  a  man's  table,  and  I 
thought  the  opportunity  was  too  good  to  be  wasted 
entirely.  I  let  him  know  in  a  quiet  way  that  I,  like 
every  other  fellow,  was  looking  for  a  job."  Champney 
laughed  aloud  at  the  shocked  look  on  his  mother's 
face.  He  knew  her  independence  of  thought  and 
action ;  it  brooked  no  catering  for  favors. 

"You  see,  mother,  men  have  to  do  it,  or  go  under. 
It's  about  one  chance  in  ten  thousand  that  a  man  gets 
what  he  wants,  and  it's  downright  criminal  to  throw 
away  a  good  opportunity  to  get  your  foot  on  a  round. 
Run  the  scaling  ladder  up  or  down,  it  does  n't  much 
matter  —  there  are  hundreds  of  applicants  for  every 
round ;  and  only  one  man  can  stand  on  each  —  and 
climb,  ae  I  mean  to.  You  don't  get  this  point  of  view 
up  here,  mother,  but  you  will  when  you  see  the  de 
velopment  of  these  great  interests.  Then  it  will  be 
each  for  himself  and  the  devil  gets  the  hindermost. 
Should  n't  I  take  every  legitimate  means  to  forge 
ahead?  You  heard  what  the  priest  said  about  Mr. 
Van  Ostend's  mentioning  me  to  him?  Let  me  tell 
you  such  men  don't  waste  one  breath  in  mentioning 
anything  that  does  not  mean  a  big  interest  per  cent, 
not  one  breath.  They  can't,  literally,  afford  to;  and 
I'm  hoping,  only  hoping,  you  know — ",  he  looked 
up  at  her  from  his  favorite  seat  on  the  lowest  step  of 
the  front  porch  with  a  keen  hard  expectancy  in  his 
eyes  that  belied  his  words,  " — that  what  he  said  to 
Father  Honore  means  something  definite.  Anyhow, 


Flamsted  Quarries  115 

we'll  wait  a  while  till  we  see  how  the  syndicate  takes 
hold  of  this  quarry  business  before  we  decide  on  any 
thing,  won't  we,  mother?" 

"I'm  willing  to  wait  as  long  as  you  like  if  you  will 
only  promise  me  one  thing." 

"What's  that?"  He  rose  and  faced  her;  she  saw 
that  he  was  slightly  on  the  defensive. 

"That  you  will  never,  never,  in  any  circumstances, 
apply  to  your  Aunt  Almeda  for  funds,  no  matter  how 
much  you  may  want  them.  I  could  n't  bear  that !" 

She  spoke  passionately  in  earnest,  with  such  depth 
of  feeling  that  she  did  not  realize  her  son  was  not 
giving  her  the  promise  when  he  said  abruptly,  the 
somewhat  hard  blue  eyes  looking  straight  into  hers: 

"Mother,  why  are  you  so  hard  on  Aunt  Meda? 
She's  a  stingy  old  screw,  I  know,  and  led  Uncle  Louis 
round  by  the  nose,  so  everybody  says;  but  why  are 
you  so  down  on  her?" 

He  was  insistent,  and  his  insistence  was  the  one 
trait  in  his  character  which  his  mother  had  found 
hardest  to  deal  with  from  his  babyhood;  from  it, 
however,  if  it  should  develop  happily  into  perseverance, 
she  hoped  the  most.  This  trait  he  inherited  from 
his  father,  Warren  Googe,  but  in  the  latter  it  had 
deteriorated  into  obstinacy.  She  always  feared  for 
her  self-control  when  she  met  it  in  her  son,  and  just 
now  she  was  under  the  influence  of  a  powerful  emotion 
that  helped  her  to  lose  it. 

"Because,"  she  made  answer,  again  passionately 
but  the  earnestness  had  given  place  to  anger,  "I  am 
a  woman  and  have  borne  from  her  what  no  woman 
bears  and  forgets,  or  forgives !  Are  you  any  the  wiser 
now?"  she  demanded.  " It  is  all  that  I  shall  tell  you ; 
so  don't  insist." 


1 1 6  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  two  continued  to  look  into  each  other's  eyes, 
and  something,  it  could  hardly  be  called  inimical, 
rather  an  aloofness  from  the  tie  of  blood,  was  visible 
to  each  in  the  other's  steadfast  gaze.  Aurora  Googe 
shivered.  Her  eyes  fell  before  the  younger  ones. 

"  Don't  Champney !  Don't  let's  get  upon  this  subject 
again;  I  can't  bear  it." 

"But,  mother,"  he  protested,  "you  mentioned  it 
first." 

"It  was  what  you  said  about  Almeda's  furnishing 
you  with  money  that  started  it.  Don't  say  anything 
more  about  it;  only  promise  me,  won't  you?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  again  to  his,  but  this  time  in 
appeal.  At  forty-one  Aurora  Googe  was  still  a  very 
beautiful  woman,  and  her  appeal,  made  gently  as  if 
in  apology  for  her  former  vehemence,  rendered  that 
beauty  potent  with  her  son's  manhood. 

"Let  me  think  it  over,  mother,  before  I  promise." 
He  answered  her  as  gently.  "It's  a  hard  thing  to 
exact  of  a  man,  and  I  don't  hold  much  with  promises. 
What  did  Uncle  Louis'  amount  to?" 

The  blood  surged  into  his  mother's  face,  and  tears, 
rare  ones,  for  she  was  not  a  weak  woman  neither  was 
she  a  sentimental  one,  filled  her  eyes.  Her  son  came 
up  the  steps  and  kissed  her.  They  were  seldom  de 
monstrative  to  this  extent  save  in  his  home-comings 
and  leave-takings.  He  changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

"I'm  going  down  to  the  village  now.  You  know  I 
have  the  serenade  on  my  program,  at  eight.  After 
wards  I'll  run  down  to  The  Greenbush  for  the  mail 
and  to  see  my  old  cronies.  I  have  n't  had  a  chance 
yet."  He  began  to  whistle  for  the  puppy,  but  cut 
himself  short,  laughing.  "I  was  going  to  take  Rag, 
but  he  won't  fit  in  with  the  serenade.  Keep  him  tied 


Flamsted  Quarries  1 1 7 

up  while  I'm  gone,  please.  Anything  you  want  from 
the  village,  mother?" 

"No,  not  to-night." 

"  Don't  sit  up  for  me ;  I  may  be  late.  Joel  is  long- 
winded  and  the  Colonel  is  booming  The  Gore  for  all 
it  is  worth  and  more  too;  I  want  to  hear  the  fun. 
Good  night." 


VIII 

THE  afterglow  of  sunset  was  long.  The  dilated 
moon,  rising  from  the  waters  of  the  Bay, 
shone  pale  at  first;  but  as  it  climbed  the 
shoulder  of  the  mountain  Wave-of-the-Sea  and  its  light 
fell  upon  the  farther  margin  of  the  lake,  its  clear  disk 
was  pure  argent. 

Champney  looked  his  approval.  It  was  the  kind 
of  night  he  had  been  hoping  for.  He  walked  leisurely 
down  the  road  from  The  Gore  for  the  night  was  warm. 
It  was  already  past  eight,  but  he  lingered,  purposely, 
a  few  minutes  longer  on  the  lake  shore  until  the 
moonlight  should  widen  on  the  waters.  Then  he  went 
on  to  the  grounds. 

He  entered  by  the  lane  and  crossed  the  lawn  to 
an  arching  rose-laden  trellis  near  the  bay  window; 
beneath  it  was  a  wooden  bench.  He  looked  up  at 
the  window.  The  blinds  were  closed.  So  far  as  he 
could  see  there  was  no  light  in  all  the  great  house. 
Behind  the  rose  trellis  was  a  group  of  stately  Norway 
spruce;  he  could  see  the  sheen  of  their  foliage  in  the 
moonlight.  He  took  his  banjo  out  of  its  case  and  sat 
down  on  the  bench,  smiling  to  himself,  for  he  was 
thoroughly  enjoying,  with  that  enjoyment  of  youth, 
health,  and  vitality  which  belongs  to  twenty-one,  this 
rustic  adventure.  He  touched  the  strings  lightly  with 
preliminary  thrumming.  It  was  a  toss-up  between 
"Annie  Rooney"  and  "Oft  in  the  stilly  night."  He 


Flamsted  Quarries  119 

decided  for  the  latter.  Raising  his  eyes  to  the  closed 
blinds,  behind  which  he  knew  the  witch  was  hiding,  he 
began  the  accompaniment.  The  soft  thrum-thrum, 
vibrating  through  the  melody,  found  an  echo  in  the 
whirring  wings  of  all  that  ephemeral  insect  life  which 
is  abroad  on  such  a  night.  The  prelude  was  almost 
at  an  end  when  he  saw  the  blinds  begin  to  separate. 
Champney  continued  to  gaze  steadily  upwards.  A  thin 
bare  arm  was  thrust  forth;  the  blinds  opened  wide; 
in  the  dark  window  space  he  saw  Aileen,  listening  in 
tently  and  gazing  fixedly  at  the  moon  as  if  its  every 
beam  were  dropping  liquid  music. 

He  began  to  sing.  His  voice  was  clear,  fine,  and  high, 
a  useful  first  tenor  for  two  winters  in  the  Glee  Club. 
When  he  finished  Aileen  deigned  to  look  down  upon 
him,  but  she  made  no  motion  of  recognition.  He  rose 
and  took  his  stand  directly  beneath  the  window. 

"I  say,  Miss  Aileen  Armagh-and-don't-yer-forget-it, 
that  is  n't  playing  fair !  Where's  my  token?" 

There  was  a  giggle  for  answer;  then,  leaning  as  far 
out  as  she  dared,  both  hands  stemmed  on  the  window 
ledge,  the  child  began  to  sing.  Full,  free,  joyously  light- 
hearted,  she  sent  forth  the  rollicking  Irish  melody  and 
the  merry  sentiment  that  was  strung  upon  it ;  evidently 
it  had  been  adapted  to  her,  for  the  words  had  suffered 
a  slight  change : 

"  Och !  laughin'  roses  are  my  lips, 
Forget-me-nots  my  ee, 
It's  many  a  lad  they're  drivin'  mad; 
Shall  they  not  so  wi'  ye? 
Heigho !  the  morning  dew ! 
Heigho !  the  rose  and  rue ! 
Follow  me,  my  bonny  lad, 
For  I'll  not  follow  you. 


I2O  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Wi'  heart  in  mout',  in  hope  and  doubt, 
My  lovers  come  and  go: 
My  smiles  receive,  my  smiles  deceive; 
Shall  they  not  serve  you  so? 
Heigho !  the  morning  dew ! 
Heigho !  the  rose  and  rue ! 
Follow  me,  my  bonny  lad, 
For  I'll  not  follow  you." 

It  was  a  delight  to  hear  her. 

"There  now,  I'll  give  yer  my  token.  Hold  out  yer 
hands!" 

Champney,  hugging  his  banjo  under  one  arm, 
made  a  cup  of  his  hands.  Carefully  measuring  the 
distance,  she  dropped  one  rosebud  into  them. 

"Put  it  on  yer  heart  now,"  was  the  next  command 
from  above.  He  obeyed  with  exaggerated  gesture,  to 
the  great  delight  of  the  serenadee.  "And  yer  goin' 
to  keep  it?" 

"Forever  and  a  day."  Champney  made  this  asser 
tion  with  a  hyper-sentimental  inflection  of  voice,  and, 
lifting  the  flower  to  his  nose,  drew  in  his  breath  — 

"Confound  you,  you  little  fiend  — "  he  sneezed 
rather  than  spoke. 

The  sneeze  was  answered  by  a  peal  of  laughter  from 
above  and  a  fifteen-year-old's  cracked  "Haw-haw-haw" 
from  the  region  of  the  Norway  spruces.  Every  suc 
ceeding  sneeze  met  with  a  like  response  —  roars  of 
laughter  on  the  one  hand  and  peal  upon  peal  on  the 
the  other.  Even  the  kitchen  door  began  to  give  signs 
of  life,  for  Hannah  and  Ann  made  their  appearance. 

The  strong  white  pepper,  which  Romanzo  managed 
to  procure  from  Hannah,  had  been  cunningly  secreted 
by  Aileen  between  the  imbricate  petals,  and  then  tied, 
in  a  manner  invisible  at  night,  with  a  fine  thread  of 


Flamsted  Quarries  121 

pink  silk  begged  from  Ann.  It  was  now  acting  and 
re-acting  on  the  lining  of  the  serenader's  olfactory 
organ  in  a  manner  to  threaten  final  decapitation. 
Champney  was  still  young  enough  to  resent  being  made 
a  subject  of  such  practical  joking  by  a  little  girl ;  but 
he  was  also  sufficiently  wise  to  acknowledge  to  him 
self  that  he  had  been  worsted  and,  in  the  end,  to  put 
a  good  face  on  it.  It  is  true  he  would  have  preferred 
that  Romanzo  Caukins  had  not  been  witness  to  his 
defeat. 

The  sneezing  and  laughter  gradually  subsided.  He 
sat  down  again  on  the  bench  and  taking  up  his  banjo 
prepared,  with  somewhat  elaborate  effort,  to  put  it 
into  its  case.  He  said  nothing. 

"Say!"  came  in  a  sobered  voice  from  above;  "are 
yer  mad  with  me?" 

Ignoring  both  question  and  questioner,  he  took  out 
his  handkerchief,  wiped  his  face  and  forehead  and, 
returning  it  to  his  pocket,  heaved  a  sigh  of  apparent 
exhaustion. 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Champney  Googe,  are  yer  mad  with  me  ?" 

To  Champney's  delight,  he  heard  an  added  note  of 
anxiety.  He  bowed  his  head  lower  over  the  banjo 
case  and  in  silence  renewed  his  simulated  struggle  to 
slip  that  instrument  into  it. 

"Champney!  Are  yer  rale  mad  with  me?"  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  earnestness  of  this  appeal.  He 
made  no  answer,  but  chuckled  inwardly  at  the  audacity 
of  the  address. 

"Champ!"  she  stamped  her  foot  to  emphasize  her 
demand;  "if  yer  don't  tell  me  yer  ain't  mad  with  me, 
I'll  lave  yer  for  good  and  all  —  so  now !" 

"I  don't  know  that  I'm  mad  with  you,"  he  spoke 
at  last  in  an  aggrieved,  a  subdued  tone;  "I  simply 


122  Flamsted  Quarries 

did  n't  think  you  could  play  me  such  a  mean  trick 
when  I  was  in  earnest,  dead  earnest." 

"Did  yer  mane  it?" 

"  Why,  of  course  I  did  !  You  don't  suppose  a  man 
walks  three  miles  in  a  hot  night  to  serenade  a  girl 
just  to  get  an  ounce  of  pepper  in  his  nose  by  way  of 
thanks,  do  you?" 

"I  thought  yer  didn't  mane  it;  Romanzo  said  yer 
was  laughing  at  me  for  telling  yer  'bout  the  lords  and 
ladies  a-making  love  with  their  guitars."  The  voice 
indicated  some  dejection  of  spirits. 

"He  did,  did  he!  I'll  settle  with  Romanzo  later." 
He  heard  a  soft  brushing  of  branches  in  the  region  of 
the  Norway  spruces  and  knew  that  the  youth  was  in 
retreat.  "And  I'll  settle  it  with  you,  too,  Miss  Aileen 
Armagh-and-don't-you-forget-it,  in  a  way  that'll  make 
you  remember  the  tag  end  of  your  name  for  one 
while !  " 

This  threat  evidently  had  its  effect. 

"Wot  yer  going  to  do?" 

He  heard  her  draw  her  breath  sharply. 

"Come  down  here  and  I'll  tell  you." 

"I  can't.  She  might  catch  me.  She  told  me  I'd 
got  to  stay  in  my  room  after  eight,  and  she's  coming 
home  ter-night.  Wot  yer  going  to  do?" 

Champney  laughed  outright.  "  Don't  you  wish  you 
might  know,  Aileen  Armagh!"  He  took  his  banjo 
in  one  hand,  lifted  his  cap  with  the  other  and,  standing 
so,  bareheaded  in  the  moonlight,  sang  with  all  the 
simulated  passion  and  pathos  of  which  he  was  capable 
one  of  the  few  love  songs  that  belong  to  the  world, 
"  Kathleen  Mavoureen " ;  but  he  took  pains  to  sub 
stitute  "  Aileen "  for  "  Kathleen."  Even  Ann  and 
Hannah,  listening  from  the  kitchen  porch,  began  to 


Flamsted  Quarries  123 

feel  sentimentally  inclined  when  the  clear  voice  ren 
dered  with  tender  pathos  the  last  lines : 

"Oh!  why  art  thou  silent,  thou  voice  of  my  heart? 
Oh!  why  art  thou  silent,  Aileen  Mavoureen?" 

Without  so  much  as  another  glance  at  the  little 
figure  in  the  window,  he  ran  across  the  lawn  and  up 
the  lane  to  the  highroad. 


IX 

ON  his  way  to  The   Greenbush   he   overtook 
Joel  Quimber,  and  without  warning  linked 
his    arm   close    in    the  old    man's.     At    the 
sudden  contact  Joel  started. 

"Uncle  Jo,  old  chap,  how  are  you?  This  seems  like 
home  to  see  you  round." 

"  Lord  bless  me,  Champ,  how  you  come  on  a  feller ! 
Here,  stan'  still  till  I  get  a  good  look  at  ye ;  —  growed, 
growed  out  of  all  notion.  Why,  I  hain't  seen  ye  for 
good  two  year.  You  war  n't  to  home  last  summer?" 

"Only  for  a  week;  I  was  off  on  a  yachting  cruise 
most  of  the  time.  Mother  said  you  were  up  on  the 
Bay  then  at  your  grandniece's  —  pretty  girl.  I  re 
member  you  had  her  down  here  one  Christmas." 

The  old  man  made  no  definite  answer,  but  cackled 
softly  to  himself:  "Yachting  cruise,  eh?  And  you 
remember  a  pretty  girl,  eh?"  He  nudged  him  with  a 
sharpened  elbow  and  whispered  mysteriously:  "Devil 
of  a  feller,  Champ!  I've  heerd  tell,  I've  heerd  tell  — 
chip  of  the  old  block,  eh?"  He  nudged  him  knowingly 
again. 

"Oh,  we're  all  devils  more  or  less,  we  men,  Uncle 
Jo;  now,  honor  bright,  aren't  we?" 

"  You  've  hit  it,  Champ ;  more  or  less  —  more  or 
less.  I  heerd  you  was  a-goin'  it  strong :  primy  donny 
suppers  an'  ortermobillies  —  " 

"Now,  Uncle  Jo,  you  know  there's  no  use  believing 
all  you  hear,  but  you  can't  plunge  a  country  raised  boy 


Flamsted  Quarries  125 

into  a  whirlpool  like  New  York  for  four  years  and 
not  expect  him  to  strike  out  and  swim  with  the 
rest.  You've  got  to,  Uncle  Jo,  or  you're  nobody. 
You'd  go  under." 

"Like  'nough  you  would,  Champ;  I  can't  say,  fer 
I  hain't  ben  thar.  Guess  twixt  you  an'  me  an'  the  post, 
I  won't  hev  ter  go  thar  sence  Aurory's  sold  the  land  fer 
the  quarries.  I  hear  it  talked  thet  it'll  bring  half  New 
York  right  inter  old  Flamsted ;  I  dunno,  I  dunno  — 
you  'member  'bout  the  new  wine  in  the  old  bottles, 
Champ  ?  —  highflyers,  emigrants,  Dagos  and  Polacks  — 
Come  ter  think,  Mis'  Champney's  got  one  on  'em  now. 
Hev  you  seen  her,  Champ?" 

Champney's  hearty  laugh  rang  out  with  no  uncertain 
sound.  "  Seen  her!  I  should  say  so.  She's  worth  any 
'primy  donny',  as  you  call  them,  that  ever  drew  a  good 
silver  dollar  out  of  my  pockets.  Oh,  it's  too  good  to 
keep !  I  must  tell  you ;  but  you  '11  keep  mum,  Uncle 
Jo?" 

"Mum's  the  word,  ef  yer  say  so,  Champ."  They 
turned  from  The  Greenbush  and  arm  in  arm  paced 
slowly  up  the  street  again.  From  time  to  time,  for  the 
next  ten  minutes,  Augustus  Buzzby  and  the  Colonel 
in  the  tavern  office  heard  from  up  street  such  unwonted 
sounds  of  hilarity  and  so  long  continued,  that  Augustus 
looked  apprehensively  at  the  Colonel  who  was  becoming 
visibly  uneasy  lest  he  fail  to  place  the  joke. 

When  the  two  appeared  at  the  office  door  they  bore 
unmistakable  signs  of  having  enjoyed  themselves  hugely. 
Augustus  Buzzby  gave  them  his  warmest  welcome  and 
seated  Uncle  Joel  in  his  deepest  office  chair,  providing 
him  at  the  same  time  with  a  pipe  and  some  cut  leaf. 
The  Colonel  was  in  his  glory.  With  one  arm  thrown 
affectionately  around  young  Googe's  neck,  he  expatiated 


126  Flamsted  Quarries 

on  the  joy  of  the  community  as  a  whole  in  again  wel 
coming  its  own. 

"  Champney,  my  dear  boy,  —  you  still  permit  me 
the  freedom  of  old  friendship  ?  —  this  town  is  already 
looking  to  you  as  to  its  future  deliverer ;  I  may  say,  as 
to  a  Moses  who  will  lead  us  into  the  industrial  Canaan 
which  is  even  now,  thanks  to  my  friend,  your  honored 
mother,  beckoning  to  us  with  its  promise  of  abundant 
plenty.  Never,  in  my  wildest  dreams,  my  dear  boy, 
have  I  thought  to  see  such  a  consummation  of  my  long- 
cherished  hopes." 

It  was  always  one  of  Champney's  prime  youth 
ful  joys  to  urge  the  Colonel,  by  judiciously  applied 
excitants,  to  a  greater  flowering  of  eloquence ;  so,  now, 
as  an  inducement  he  wrung  his  neighbor's  hand  and 
thanked  him  warmly  for  his  timely  recognition  of  the 
new  Flamsted  about  to  be. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "the  thing  is  for  all  of  us  to  fall 
into  line  and  forge  ahead,  Colonel.  If  we  don't,  we'll 
be  left  behind;  and  in  these  times  to  lag  is  to  take  to 
the  backwoods." 

"Right  you  are,  my  dear  fellow;  deterioration  can 
only  set  in  when  the  -members  of  a  community,  like 
ours,  fail  to  present  a  solid  front  to  the  disintegrating 
forces  of  a  supine  civilization  which  —  " 

"At  it  again,  Milton  Caukins!"  It  was  Mr. 
Wiggins  who,  entering  the  office,  interrupted  the  flow, 
—  "dammed  the  torrent",  he  was  wont  to  say.  He 
extended  a  hand  to  young  Googe.  "  Glad  to  see  you, 
Champney.  I  hear  there  is  a-  prospect  of  your  remain 
ing  with  us.  Quimber  tells  us  he  heard  something  to 
the  effect  that  a  position  might  be  offered  you  by  the 
syndicate." 

"It's  the  first  I've  heard  of  it.    How  did  you  hear, 


Flamsted  Quarries  I  27 

Uncle  Jo?"  He  turned  upon  the  old  man  with  a  keen 
alertness  which,  taken  in  connection  with  the  Colonel's 
oratory,  was  both  disconcerting  and  confusing. 

"  How  'd  I  hear  ?  Le'  me  see ;  Champ,  what  was  we 
just  talking  'bout  up  the  street,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  never  mind  that  now,"  he  answered  impatiently; 
"let's  hear  what  you  heard.  I'm  the  interested  party 
just  now."  But  the  old  man  looked  only  the  more 
disturbed  and  was  not  to  be  hurried. 

"  'Bout  that  little  girl  —  "  he  began,  but  was  uncere 
moniously  cut  short  by  Champney. 

"  Oh,  damn  the  girl,  just  for  once,  Uncle  Jo.  What 
I  want  to  know  is,  how  you  came  to  hear  anything 
about  me  in  connection  with  the  quarry  syndicate." 

The  old  man  persisted:  "I'm  a-tryin'  to  get  a-holt 
of  that  man's  name  that  got  her  up  here  - 

"Van  Ostend,"  Champney  suggested;  "is  that  the 
name  you  want?" 

"That's  him,  Van  Ostend;  that's  the  one.  He  an' 
the  rest  was  hevin'  a  meetin'  right  here  in  this  office 
'fore  they  went  to  the  train,  an'  I  was  settin'  outside 
the  winder  an'  heerd  one  on  'em  say:  'Thet  Mis' 
Googe  's  a  stunner;  what's  her  son  like,  does  any  one 
know?'  An'  I  heerd  Mr.  Van  Ostend  say:  'She's 
very  unusual ;  if  her  son  has  half  her  executive  ability ' 
—  them's  his  very  words  —  'we  might  work  him  in 
with  us.  It  would  be  good  business  policy  to  interest, 
through  him,  the  land  itself  in  its  own  output,  so  to 
speak,  besides  being  something  of  a  courtesy  to  Mis' 
Googe.  I've  met  him  twice.'  Then  they  fell  to  dis- 
cussin'  the  lay  of  The  Gore  and  the  water  power  at 
The  Corners." 

"Bully  for  you,  Uncle  Jo !"  Champney  slapped  the 
rounded  shoulders  with  such  appreciative  heartiness 

\ 


128  Flamsted  Quarries 

that  the  old  man's  pipe  threatened  to  be  shaken  from 
between  his  toothless  gums.  "You  have  heard  the 
very  thing  I've  been  hoping  for.  Tave  never  let  on 
that  he  knew  anything  about  it." 

"He  did  n't,  only  what  I  told  him."  Old  Quimber 
cackled  weakly.  "  I  guess  Tave's  got  his  hands  too  full 
at  Champo  to  remember  what's  told  him;  what  with 
the  little  girl  an'  Romanzo  —  no  offence,  Colonel." 
He  looked  apologetically  at  the  Colonel  wrho  waved  his 
hand  with  an  airiness  that  disposed  at  once  of  the  idea 
of  any  feeling  on  his  part  in  regard  to  family  revela 
tions.  "  I  heerd  tell  thet  the  little  girl  hed  turned  his 
head  an'  Tave  could  n't  git  nothin'  in  the  way  of  work 
out  of  him." 

"In  that  case  I  must  look  into  the  matter."  The 
Colonel  spoke  with  stern  gravity.  "Both  Mrs.  Caukins 
and  I  wTould  deplore  any  undue  influence  that  might 
be  brought  to  bear  upon  any  son  of  ours  at  so  critical 
a  period  of  his  career." 

Mr.  Wiggins  laughed ;  but  the  laugh  was  only  a  dis 
guised  sneer.  "Perhaps  you'll  come  to  your  senses, 
Colonel,  when  you've  got  an  immigrant  for  a  daughter- 
in-law.  Own  up,  now,  you  did  n't  think  your  'compet 
ing  industrial  thousands'  might  be  increased  by  some 
half-Irish  grandchildren,  now  did  you?" 

Champney  listened  for  the  Colonel's  answer  with  a 
suspended  hope  that  he  might  give  Elmer  Wiggins 
"one,"  as  he  said  to  himself.  He  still  owed  the  latter 
gentleman  a  grudge  because  in  the  past  he  had  been, 
as  it  were,  the  fountain  head  of  all  in  his  youthful 
misery  in  supplying  ample  portions  of  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  oil  of  the  castor  bean  and  dried  senna  leaves. 
He  felt  at  the  present  time,  moreover,  that  he  was  in 
imical  to  his  mother  and  her  interests.  And  Milton 


Flamsted  Quarries  1 29 

Caukins  was  his  friend  and  hers,  past,  present,  and 
future;  of  this  he  was  sure. 

The  Colonel  took  time  to  light  his  cigar  before  reply 
ing;  then,  waving  it  towards  the  ceiling,  he  said  pleasantly : 

"My  young  friend  here,  Champney,  to  whom  we 
are  looking  to  restore  the  pristine  vigor  of  a  fast  vanish 
ing  line  of  noble  ancestors,  is  both  a  Googe  and  a 
Champney.  His  ancestors  counted  themselves  honored 
in  making  alliances  with  foreigners  —  immigrants  to 
our  all-welcoming  shores;  'a  rose',  Mr.  Wiggins,  'by 
any  other  name ' ;  I  need  not  quote."  His  chest  swelled ; 
he  interrupted  himself  to  puff  vigorously  at  his  cigar 
before  continuing:  "My  son,  sir,  is  on  the  spindle 
side  of  the  house  a  Googe,  and  a  Googe,  sir,  has  the 
blood  of  the  Champneys  and  the  Lord  knows  of  how 
many  noble  immigrants"  (the  last  word  was  empha 
sized  by  a  fleeting  glance  of  withering  scorn  at  the 
small-headed  Wiggins)  "  in  his  veins  which,  fortunately, 
cannot  be  said  of  you,  sir.  If,  at  any  time  in  the  distant 
future,  my  son  should  see  fit  to  ally  himself  with  a  scion 
of  the  noble  and  long-suffering  Hibernian  race,  I  assure 
you"  —his  voice  was  increasing  in  dimensions  — 
"both  Mrs.  Caukins  and  myself  would  feel  honored, 
sir,  yes,  honored  in  the  breach!" 

After  this  wholly  unexpected  ending  to  his  perora 
tion,  he  lowered  his  feet  from  their  accustomed  rest  on 
the  counter  of  the  former  bar  and,  ignoring  Mr.  Wig 
gins,  remarked  to  Augustus  that  it  was  time  for  the 
mail.  Augustus,  glad  to  welcome  any  diversion  of  the 
Colonel's  and  Mr.  Wiggins's  asperities,  said  the  train  was 
on  time  and  the  mail  would  be  there  in  a  few  minutes. 

"Tave's  gone  down  to  meet  Mis'  Champney,"  he 
added  turning  to  Champney.  "She's  been  in  Hallsport 
for  two  days.  I  presume  you  ain't  seen  her." 


130  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Not  yet.  If  you  can  give  me  my  mail  first  I  can 
drive  up  to  Champ-au-Haut  with  her  to-night.  There's 
the  mail-wagon." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,  Champney;  and  you  might 
take  out  Mis'  Champney's;  Tave  can't  leave  the 
bosses." 

"All  right."  He  went  out  on  the  veranda  to  see  if 
the  Champ-au-Haut  carriage  was  in  sight.  A  moment 
later,  when  it  drove  up,  he  was  at  the  door  to  open  it. 

"Here  I  am,  Aunt  Meda.  Will  this  hold  two  and 
all  those  bundles?" 

"Why,  Champney,  you  here?  Come  in."  She 
made  room  for  him  on  the  ample  seat;  he  sprang  in, 
and  bent  to  kiss  her  before  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"Now,  I  call  this  luck.  This  is  as  good  as  a  con 
fessional,  small  and  dark,  and  'fess  I've  got  to,  Aunt 
Meda,  or  there  '11  be  trouble  for  somebody  at  Campo." 

Had  the  space  not  been  so  "  small  and  dark"  he  might 
have  seen  the  face  of  the  woman  beside  him  quiver 
painfully  at  the  sound  of  his  cheery  young  voice  and, 
when  he  kissed  her,  flush  to  her  temples. 

"What  devilry  now,  Champney?" 

"It's  a  girl,  of  course,  Aunt  Meda  —  your  girl," 
he  added  laughing. 

"So  you've  found  her  out,  have  you,  you  young 
rogue?  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"I  think  you'll  have  a  wrhole  vaudeville  show  at 
Champ-au-Haut  for  the  rest  of  your  days  —  and 
gratis." 

"I've  been  coming,  to  that  conclusion  myself"  said 
Mrs.  Champney,  smiling  in  turn  at  the  recollection  of 
some  of  her  experiences  during  the  past  three  weeks. 
"She  amuses  me,  and  I've  concluded  to  keep  her. 
I  'm  going  to  have  her  with  me  a  good  part  of  the  time. 


Flamsted  Quarries  131 

I've  seen  enough  since  she  has  been  with  me  to  con 
vince  me  that  my  people  will  amount  to  nothing  so 
long  as  she  is  with  them."  There  was  an  edge  to  her 
words  the  sharpness  of  which  was  felt  by  Octavius  on 
the  front  seat. 

"  I  can't  blame  them ;  I  could  n't.  Why  Tave 
here  is  threatened  already  with  a  quick  decline  — 
sheer  worry  of  mind,  is  n't  it  Tave  ?"  Octavius  nodded 
shortly;  "And  as  for  Romanzo  there's  no  telling  where 
he  will  end;  even  Ann  and  Hannah  are  infected." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Champney?"  She  was  laugh 
ing  now. 

"  Just  wait  till  I  run  in  and  get  the  mail  for  us  both, 
and  I'll  tell  you;  it's  my  confession." 

He  sprang  out,  ran  up  the  steps  and  disappeared 
for  a  moment.  He  reappeared  thrusting  some  letters 
into  his  pocket.  Evidently  he  had  not  looked  at  them. 
He  handed  the  other  letters  and  papers  to  Octavius, 
and  so  soon  as  the  carriage  was  on  the  way  to  The 
Bow  he  regaled  his  aunt  with  his  evening's  experience 
under  the  bay  window. 

"Serves  you  right,"  was  her  only  comment;  but 
her  laugh  told  him  she  enjoyed  the  episode.  He 
went  into  the  house  upon  her  invitation  and  sat  with 
her  till  nearly  eleven,  giving  an  account  of  himself  — 
at  least  all  the  account  he  cared  to  give  which  was  in 
trinsically  different  from  that  which  he  gave  his  mother. 
Mrs.  Champney  was  what  he  had  once  described  to 
his  mother  as  "a  worldly  woman  with  the  rind  on," 
and  when  he  was  with  her,  he  involuntarily  showed 
that  side  of  his  nature  which  was  best  calculated  to 
make  an  impression  on  the  "rind."  He  grew  more 
worldly  himself,  and  she  rejoiced  in  what  she  saw. 


X 

WHILE  walking  homewards  up  The  Gore,  he 
was  wondering  why  his  mother  had  shown 
such  strength  of  feeling  when  he  expressed 
the  wish  that  his  aunt  would  help  him  financially  to 
further  his  plans.  He  knew  the  two  women  never  had 
but  little  intercourse;  but  with  him  it  was  different. 
He  was  a  man,  the  living  representative  of  two  fami 
lies,  and  who  had  a  better  right  than  he  to  some  of  his 
Aunt  Meda's  money?  A  right  of  blood,  although  on 
the  Champney  side  distant  and  collateral.  He  knew 
that  the  community  as  a  whole,  especially  now  that 
his  mother  had  become  a  factor  in  its  new  industrial 
life,  was  looking  to  him,  as  once  they  had  looked  to  his 
Uncle  Louis,  to  "make  good"  with  his  inheritance  of 
race.  To  this  end  his  mother  had  equipped  him  with 
his  university  training.  Why  should  n't  his  aunt  be 
willing  to  help  him?  She  liked  him,  that  is,  she  liked 
to  talk  with  him.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  his  room  was  better  than  his  company; 
this  was  especially  noticeable  in  his  young  days  when 
he  was  much  with  his  aunt's  husband  whom  he  called 
"Uncle  Louis."  Since  his  death  he  had  never  ceased  to 
visit  her  at  Champ-au-Haut  —  too  much  was  at  stake, 
for  he  was  the  rightful  heir  to  her  property  at  least,  if 
not  Louis  Champney's.  She,  as  well  as  his  father, 
had  inherited  twenty  thousand  from  the  estate  in 
The  Gore.  His  father,  so  he  was  told,  had  squan- 


Flamsted  Quarries  1 3  3 

dered  his  patrimony  some  two  years  before  his  death. 
His  aunt,  on  the  contrary,  had  already  doubled  hers; 
and  with  skilful  manipulation  forty  thousand  in  these 
days  might  be  quadrupled  easily.  It  was  wise,  what 
ever  might  happen,  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  Aunt 
Meda ;  and  as  for  giving  that  promise  to  his  mother 
he  neither  could  nor  would.  His  mind  was  made  up 
on  this  point  when  he  reached  The  Gore.  He  told 
himself  he  dared  not.  Who  could  say  what  unmet 
necessity  might  handicap  him  at  some  critical  time? 
—  this  was  his  justification. 

In  the  midst  of  his  wonderings,  he  suddenly  re 
membered  the  evening's  mail.  He  took  it  out  and 
struck  a  match  to  look  at  the  hand-writing.  Among 
several  letters  from  New  York,  he  recognized  one  as 
having  Mr.  Van  Ostend's  address  on  the  reverse  of 
the  envelope.  He  tore  it  open;  struck  another  match 
and,  the  letter  being  type-written,  hastily  read  it  through 
with  the  aid  of  a  third  and  fourth  pocket-lucifer ;  read 
it  in  a  tumult  of  expectancy,  and  finished  it  with  an 
intense  and  irritating  sense  of  disappointment.  He 
vehemently  voiced  his  vexation :  "  Oh,  damn  it  all !" 

He  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  return  the  letter  to 
its  cover,  but  kept  flirting  it  in  his  hand  as  he  strode 
indignantly  up  the  hill,  his  arms  swinging  like  a  young 
windmill's.  When  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  he 
looked  up  at  his  mother's  bedroom  window.  Her 
light  was  still  burning ;  despite  his  admonition  she  was 
waiting  for  him  as  usual.  He  must  tell  her  before  he 
slept. 

"Champney!"  she  called,  when  she  heard  him  in 
the  hall. 

"Yes,  mother;  may  I  come  up?" 

"Of  course."     She  opened  wide  her  bedroom  door 


i  34  Flamsted  Quarries 

and  stood  there,  waiting  for  him,  the  lamp  in  her  hand. 
Her  beauty  was  enhanced  by  the  loose-flowing  cotton 
wrapper  of  pale  pink.  Her  dark  heavy  hair  was  braided 
for  the  night  and  coiled  again  and  again,  crown  fashion, 
on  her  head. 

"Aunt  Meda  never  could  hold  a  candle  to  mother!" 
was  Champney  Googe's  thought  on  entering.  The  two 
sat  down  for  the  usual  before-turning-in-chat. 

He  was  so  full  of  his  subject  that  it  overflowed  at 
once  in  abrupt  speech. 

" Mother,  I've  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Van  Ostend  - 

"Oh,  Champney!"  There  was  the  joy  of  anticipa 
tion  in  her  voice. 

"Now,  mother,  don't  —  don't  expect  anything,"  he 
pleaded,  "for  you'll  be  no  end  cut  up  over  the 
whole  thing.  Now,  listen."  He  read  the  letter; 
the  tone  of  his  voice  indicated  both  disgust  and 
indignation. 

"Now,  look  at  that!"  He  burst  forth  eruptively 
when  he  had  finished.  "Here  we've  been  banking  on 
an  offer  for  some  position  in  the  syndicate,  at  least, 
something  that  would  help  clear  the  road  to  Wall 
Street  where  I  should  be  able  to  strike  out  for  myself 
without  being  dependent  on  any  one  —  I  did  n't  mince 
matters  that  day  of  the  dinner  when  I  told  him  what 
I  wanted,  either !  And  here  I  get  an  offer  to  go  to 
Europe  for  five  years  and  study  banking  systems  and 
the  Lord  knows  what  in  London,  Paris,  and  Berlin, 
and  act  as  a  sort  of  super  in  his  branch  offices.  Great 
Scott !  Does  he  think  a  man  is  going  to  waste  five 
years  of  his  life  in  Europe  at  a  time  when  twenty-four 
hours  here  at  home  might  make  a  man  !  He's  a  donkey 
if  he  thinks  that,  and  I'd  have  given  him  credit  for 
more  common  sense  —  " 


Flamsted  Quarries  135 

"Now,  Champney,  stop  right  where  you  are.  Don't 
boil  over  so."  She  repressed  a  smile.  "Let's  talk 
business  and  look  at  matters  as  they  stand." 

"I  can't;"  he  said  doggedly;  "I  can't  talk  business 
without  a  business  basis,  and  this  here,"  —  he  shook 
the  letter  much  as  Rag  shook  a  slipper,  —  "it's  just 
slop!  What  am  I  going  to  do  over  there,  I'd  like 
to  know?"  he  demanded  fiercely;  whereupon  his 
mother  took  the  letter  from  his  hand  and,  without 
heeding  his  grumbling,  read  it  carefully  twice. 

"Now,  look  here,  Champney,"  she  said  firmly; 
"you  must  use  some  reason.  I  admit  this  isn't  what 
you  wanted  or  I  expected,  but  it's  something;  many 
would  think  it  everything.  Did  n't  you  tell  me  only 
yesterday  that  in  these  times  a  man  is  fortunate  to  get 
his  foot  on  any  round  of  the  ladder  — " 

"Well,  if  I  did,  I  did  n't  mean  the  rung  of  a  bank 
ing  house  fire-escape  over  in  Europe."  He  inter 
rupted  her,  speaking  sulkily.  Then  of  a  sudden  he 
laughed  out.  "Go  on,  mother,  I'm  a  chump."  His 
mother  smiled  and  continued  the  broken  sentence : 

" — And  that  ten  thousand  fail  where  one  succeeds 
in  getting  even  a  foothold  —  to  climb,  as  you  want 
to?" 

"But  how  can  I  climb?  That's  the  point.  Why, 
I  shall  be  twenty-six  in  five  years  —  if  I  live,"  he  added 
lugubriously. 

His  mother  laughed  outright.  The  splendid  speci 
men  of  health,  vitality,  and  strength  before  her  was 
in  too  marked  contrast  to  his  words. 

"Well,  I  don't  care,"  he  muttered,  but  joining 
heartily  in  her  laugh;  "I've  heard  of  fellows  like  me 
going  into  a  decline  just  out  of  pure  homesickness 
over  there." 


136  Flamsted  Quarries 

"I  don't  think  you  will  be  homesick  for  Flamsted; 
I  saw  no  traces  of  that  malady  while  you  were  in  New 
York.  On  the  contrary,  I  thought  you  accepted  every 
opportunity  to  stay  away." 

"New  York  is  different,"  he  replied,  a  little  shame 
faced  in  the  presence  of  the  truth  he  had  just  heard. 
"But,  mother,  you  would  be  alone  here." 

"I'm  used  to  it,  Champney;"  she  spoke  as  it  were 
perfunctorily;  "and  I  am  ambitious  to  see  you  suc 
ceed  as  you  wish  to.  I  want  to  see  you  in  a  position 
which  will  fulfil  both  your  hopes  and  mine ;  but  neither 
you  nor  I  can  choose  the  means,  not  yet;  we  have  n't 
the  money.  For  my  part,  I  think  you  should  accept 
this  offer;  it's  one  in  ten  thousand.  Work  your  way 
up  during  these  five  years  into  Mr.  Van  Ostend's  con 
fidence,  and  I  am  sure,  sure,  that  by  that  time  he  will 
have  something  for  you  that  will  satisfy  even  your 
young  ambition.  I  think,  moreover,  it  is  a  necessity 
for  you  to  accept  this,  Champney." 

"You  do;  why?" 

"Well,  for  a  good  many  reasons.  I  doubt,  in  the 
first  place,  if  these  quarries  can  get  under  full  running 
headway  for  the  next  seven  years,  and  even  if  you  had 
been  offered  some  position  of  trust  in  connection  with 
them,  you  have  n't  had  an  opportunity  to  prove  your 
self  worthy  of  it  in  a  business  way.  I  doubt,  too,  if 
the  salary  would  be  any  larger;  it  is  certainly  a  fair 
one  for  -the  work  he  offers."  She  consulted  the  letter. 
"Twelve  hundred  for  the  first  year,  and  for  every 
succeeding  year  an  additional  five  hundred.  What 
more  could  you  expect,  inexperienced  as  you  are? 
Many  men  have  to  give  their  services  gratis  for  a  while 
to  obtain  entrance  into  such  offices  and  have  their 
names,  even,  connected  with  such  a  financier.  This 


Flamsted  Quarries  137 

opportunity   is    a   business    asset.     I    feel   convinced, 
moreover,  that  you  need  just  this  discipline." 

"Why?" 

"For  some  other  good  reasons.  For  one,  you  would 
be  brought  into  daily  contact  with  men,  experienced 
men,  of  various  nationalities  — 

"  You  can  be  that  in  New  York.  There  is  n't  a  city 
in  the  world  where  you  can  gain  such  a  cosmopolitan 
experience."  He  was  still  protesting,  still  insisting. 
His  mother  made  no  reply,  nor  did  she  notice  the 
interruption. 

" — Learn  their  ways,  their  point  of  view.  All  this 
would  be  of  infinite  help  if,  later  on,  you  should  come 
into  a  position  of  great  responsibility  in  connection 
with  the  quarry  syndicate.  —  It  does  seem  so  strange 
that  hundreds  will  make  their  livelihood  from  our 
barren  pastures!"  She  spoke  almost  to  herself,  and 
for  a  moment  they  were  silent. 

"And  look  at  this  invitation  to  cross  in  his  yacht 
with  his  family !  Champney,  you  know  perfectly  well 
nothing  could  be  more  courteous  or  thoughtful;  it 
saves  your  passage  money,  and  it  shows  plainly  his 
interest  in  you  personally." 

"I  know;  that  part  is  n't  half  bad."  He  spoke  with 
interest  and  less  reluctance.  "I  saw  the  yacht  last 
spring  lying  in  North  River;  she's  a  perfect  floating 
palace  they  say.  Of  course,  I  appreciate  the  invita 
tion;  but  supposing  —  only  supposing,  you  know," 
this  as  a  warning  not  to  take  too  much  for  granted,  - 
"I  should  accept.  How  could  I  live  on  twelve  hun 
dred  a  year?  He  spends  twice  that  on  a  cook.  How 
does  he  think  a  fellow  is  going  to  dress  and  live  on 
that  ?  'T  was  a  tight  squeeze  in  college  on  thirteen 
hundred." 


138  Flamsted  Quarries 

His  mother  knew  his  way  so  well,  that  she  recognized 
in  this  insistent  piling  of  one  obstacle  upon  another 
the  budding  impulse  to  yield.  She  was  willing  to  press 
the  matter  further. 

"Oh,  clothes  are  cheaper  abroad  and  living  is  not 
nearly  so  dear.  You  could  be  quite  the  gentleman  on 
your  second  year's  salary,  and,  of  course,  I  can  help 
out  with  the  interest  on  the  twenty  thousand.  You 
forget  this." 

"By  George,  I  did,  mother!  You're  a  trump;  but 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  I  want  to  cut  any  figure  over 
there;  I  don't  care  enough  about  'em.  But  I  want 
enough  to  have  a  ripping  good  time  to  compensate  for 
staying  away  so  long." 

"You  need  not  stay  five  consecutive  years  away 
from  home.  Look  here,  Champney;  you  have  read 
this  letter  with  your  eyes  but  not  with  your  wits.  Your 
boiling  condition  was  not  conducive  to  clear 
headedness." 

"Oh,  I  say  mother!  Don't  rap  a  fellow  too  hard 
when  he's  down. 

"You're  not  down;  you're  up,"  —  she  held  her 
ground  with  him  right  sturdily,  —  "up  on  the  second 
round  already,  my  son ;  only  you  don't  know  it.  Here 
it  is  in  black  and  white  that  you  can  come  home  for 
six  weeks  after  two  years,  and  the  fifth  year  is  shortened 
by  three  months  if  all  goes  well.  What  more  do  you 
want?" 

"That's  something,  anyway." 

"Now,  I  want  you  to  think  this  over." 

"I  wish  I  could  run  down  to  New  York  for  a  day 
or  two;  it  would  help  a  lot.  I  could  look  round  and 
possibly  find  an  opening  in  the  direction  I  want.  I 
want  to  do  this  before  deciding." 


Flamsted  Quarries  139 

"Champney,  I  shall  lose  patience  with  you  soon. 
You  know  you  can't  run  down  to  New  York  for  even 
a  day.  Mr.  Van  Ostend  states  the  fact  baldly :  '  Your 
decision  I  must  have  by  telegraph,  at  the  latest,  by 
Thursday  noon.'  That's  day  after  to-morrow.  'We 
sail  on  Saturday.'  Mr.  Van  Ostend  is  not  a  man  to 
waste  a  breath,  as  you  have  said." 

Champney  had  no  answer  ready.  He  evaded  the 
question.  "I'll  tell  you  to-morrow,  mother.  It's 
late;  you  mustn't  sit  up  any  longer."  He  looked  at 
his  watch.  "  One  o'clock.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  Champney.  Leave  your  door  into 
the  hall  wide  open;  it's  so  close." 

She  put  out  her  light  and  sat  down  by  the  window. 
The  night  was  breathless;  not  a  leaf  of  the  elm  trees 
quivered.  She  heard  the  Rothel  picking  its  way  down 
the  rocky  channel  of  The  Gore.  She  gave  herself  up 
to  thought,  far-reaching  both  into  the  past  and  the 
future.  Soon,  mingled  with  the  murmur  of  the  brook, 
she  heard  her  son's  quiet  measured  breathing.  She 
rose,  walked  noiselessly  down  the  hall  and  stood  at 
his  bedroom  door,  to  gaze  —  mother-like,  to  worship. 
The  moonlight  just  touched  the  pillow.  He  lay  with 
his  head  on  his  arm;  the  full  white  chest  was  partly 
bared;  the  spare  length  of  the  muscular  body  was 
outlined  beneath  the  sheet.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
She  turned  from  the  door,  and,  noiselessly  as  she 
had  come,  went  back  to  her  room  and  her  couch. 

How  little  the  pending  decision  weighed  on  his 
mind  was  proven  by  his  long  untroubled  sleep;  but 
directly  after  a  late  breakfast  he  told  his  mother  he 
was  going  out  to  prospect  a  little  in  The  Gore;  and 
she,  understanding,  questioned  him  no  further.  He 


140  Flamsted  Quarries 

whistled  to  Rag  and  turned  into  the  side  road  that 
led  to  the  first  quarry.  There  was  no  work  going  on 
there.  This  small  ownership  of  forty  acres  was 
merged  in  the  syndicate  which  had  so  recently  ac 
quired  the  two  hundred  acres  from  the  Googe  es 
tate.  He  made  his  way  over  the  hill  and  around  to 
the  head  of  The  Gore.  He  wanted  to  climb  the  cliff- 
like  rocks  and  think  it  out  under  the  pines,  landmarks 
of  his  early  boyhood.  He  picked  his  way  among  the 
boulders  and  masses  of  sheep  laurel;  he  was  thinking 
not  of  the  quarries  but  of  himself;  he  did  not  even 
inquire  of  himself  how  the  sale  of  the  quarries  might 
be  about  to  affect  his  future. 

Champney  Googe  was  self-centred.  The  motives 
for  all  his  actions  in  a  short  and  uneventful  life  were 
the  spokes  to  his  particular  hub  of  self;  the  tire, 
that  bound  them  and  held  them  to  him,  he  considered 
merely  the  necessary  periphery  of  constant  contact 
with  people  and  things  by  which  his  own  little  wheel 
of  fortune  might  be  made  to  roll  the  more  easily.  He 
was  following  some  such  line  of  thought  while  turning 
Mr.  Van  Ostend's  plan  over  and  over  in  his  mind, 
viewing  it  from  all  sides.  It  was  not  what  he  wanted, 
but  it  might  lead  to  that.  His  eyes  were  on  the  rough 
ground  beneath  him,  his  thoughts  busy  with  the  pend 
ing  decision,  when  he  was  taken  out  of  himself  by 
hearing  an  unexpected  voice  in  his  vicinity. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Googe.  Am  I  poaching  on 
your  preserve?" 

Champney  recognized  the  voice  at  once.  It  was 
Father  Honore's  hailing  him  from  beneath  the  pines. 
He  was  sitting  with  his  back  against  one;  a  violin  lay 
on  its  cover  beside  him;  on  his  lap  was  a  drawing- 
board  with  rule  and  compass  pencil.  Champney  realized 


Flamsted  Quarries  141 

on  the  instant,  and  with  a  feeling  of  pleasure,  that  the 
priest's  presence  was  no  intrusion  even  at  this  juncture. 

"No,  indeed,  for  it  is  no  longer  my  preserve,"  he 
answered  cheerily,  and  added,  with  a  touch  of  earnest 
ness  that  was  something  of  a  surprise  to  himself,  "  and 
it  would  n't  be  if  it  were  still  mine." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Googe;  I  appreciate  that.  You 
must  find  it  hard  to  see  a  stranger  like  myself  preempting 
your  special  claim,  as  I  fancy  this  one  is." 

"It  used  to  be  when  I  was  a  youngster;  but,  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  have  n't  cared  for  it  much  of  late  years. 
The  city  life  spoils  a  man  for  this.  I  love  that  rush  and 
hustle  and  rubbing-elbows  with  the  world  in  general, 
getting  knocked  about  —  and  knocking."  He  laughed 
merrily,  significantly,  and  Father  Honore,  catching  his 
meaning  at  once,  laughed  too.  "But  I'm  not  telling 
you  any  news;  of  course,  you've  had  it  all." 

"Yes,  all  and  a  surfeit.  I  was  glad  to  get  away  to 
this  hill-quiet." 

Champney  sat  down  on  the  thick  rusty-red  matting 
of  pine  needles  and  turned  to  him,  a  question  in  his 
eyes.  Father  Honore  smiled.  "What  is  it?"  he  said. 

"May  I  ask  if  it  was  your  own  choice  coming  up 
here  to  us?" 

"Yes,  my  deliberate  choice.  I  had  to  work  for  it, 
though.  The  superior  of  my  order  was  against  my 
coming.  It  took  moral  suasion  to  get  the  appointment." 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  wanted  to  lose  a  valuable  man 
from  the  city,"  said  Champney  bluntly. 

"The  question  of  value  is  not,  happily,  a  question 
of  environment.  I  simply  felt  I  could  do  my  best  work 
here  in  the  best  way." 

"And  you  did  n't  consider  yourself  at  all?"  Champ 
ney  put  the  question,  which  voiced  his  thought,  squarely. 


142  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Oh,  I'm  human/'  he  answered  smiling  at  the 
questioner;  "don't  make  any  mistake  on  that  point; 
and  I  don't  suppose  many  of  us  can  eliminate  self 
wholly  in  a  matter  of  choice.  I  did  want  to  work  here 
because  I  believe  I  can  do  the  best  work,  but  I  also 
welcomed  the  opportunity  to  get  away  from  the  city  — 
it  weighs  on  me,  weighs  on  me,"  he  added,  but  it 
sounded  as  if  he  were  merely  thinking  aloud. 

Champney  failed  to  comprehend  him.  Father  Hon- 
ore,  raising  his  eyes,  caught  the  look  on  the  young 
man's  face  and  interpreted  it.  He  said  quietly : 

"But  then  you're  twenty-one  and  I'm  forty-five; 
that  accounts  for  it." 

For  a  moment,  but  a  moment  only,  Champney  was 
tempted  to  speak  out  to  this  man,  stranger  as  he 
was.  Mr.  Van  Ostend  evidently  had  confidence  in  him; 
why  should  n't  he  ?  Perhaps  he  might  help  him  to 
decide,  and  for  the  best.  But  even  as  the  thought 
flashed  into  consciousness,  he  was  aware  of  its 
futility.  He  was  sure  the  man  would  repeat  only 
what  his  mother  had  said.  He  did  not  care  to  hear 
that  twice.  And  what  was  this  man  to  him  that  he 
should  ask  his  opinion,  appeal  to  him  for  advice 
in  directing  this  step  in  his  career?  He  changed  the 
subject  abruptly. 

"I  think  you  said  you  had  met  Mr.  Van  Ostend?" 

"Yes,  twice  in  connection  with  the  orphan  child,  as 
I  told  you,  and  once  I  dined  with  him.  He  has  a  charm 
ing  family:  his  sister  and  his  little  daughter.  Have 
you  met  them?" 

"  Only  once.  He  has  just  written  me  and  asked  me 
to  join  them  on  his  yacht  for  a  trip  to  Europe."  Champ 
ney  felt  he  was  coasting  on  the  edge,  and  enjoyed  the 
sport. 


Flamsted  Quarries  143 

"And  of  course  you're  going?  I  can't  imagine  a 
more  delightful  host."  Father  Honore  spoke  with 
enthusiasm. 

But  Champney  failed  to  respond  in  like  manner. 
The  priest  took  note  of  it. 

"I  haven't  made  up  my  mind;"  he  spoke  slowly; 
then,  smiling  merrily  into  the  other's  face,  "and  I 
came  up  here  to  try  to  make  it  up." 

"And  I  was  here  so  you  could  n't  do  it,  of  course !" 
Father  Honore"  exclaimed  so  ruefully  that  Champney's 
hearty  laugh  rang  out.  "No,  no;  I  didn't  mean  for 
you  to  take  it  in  that  way.  I'm  glad  I  found  you  here 
—  I  liked  what  you  said  about  the  'value'." 

Father  Honore  looked  mystified  for  a  moment;  his 
brow  contracted  in  the  effort  to  recall  at  the  moment 
what  he  had  said  about  "value",  and  in  what  connec 
tion  ;  but  instead  of  any  further  question  as  to  Champ 
ney's  rather  incoherent  meaning,  he  handed  him  the 
drawing-board. 

"This  is  the  plan  for  my  shack,  Mr.  Googe.  I  have 
written  to  Mr.  Van  Ostend  to  ask  if  the  company  would 
have  any  objection  to  my  putting  it  here  near  these 
pines.  I  understand  the  quarries  are  to  be  opened  up 
as  far  as  the  cliff,  and  sometime,  in  the  future,  my 
house  will  be  neighbor  to  the  workers.  I  suppose  then 
I  shall  have  to  'move  on'.  I'm  going  to  build  it 
myself." 

"All  yourself?" 

"Why  not?  I'm  a  fairly  good  mason;  I've  learned 
that  trade,  and  there  is  plenty  of  material,  good  material, 
all  about."  He  looked  over  upon  the  rock-strewn 
slopes.  "I'm  going  to  use  some  of  the  granite  waste 
too."  He  put  his  violin  into  its  case  and  held  out 
his  hand  for  the  board.  "I'm  going  now,  Mr.  Googe; 


144  Flamsted  Quarries 

I  shall  be  interested  to  know  your  decision  as  soon 
as  you  yourself  know  about  it." 

"I'll  let  you  know  by  to-morrow.  I've  nearly  a  day 
of  grace.  You  play?  You  are  a  musician?"  he 
asked,  as  Father  Honore  rose  and  tucked  the  violin 
and  drawing-board  under  his  arm. 

"My  matins,"  the  priest  answered,  smiling  down 
into  the  curiously  eager  face  that  with  the  fresh  unlined 
beauty  of  young  manhood  was  upturned  to  his.  "  Good 
morning."  He  lifted  his  hat  and  walked  rapidly  away 
without  waiting  for  any  further  word  from  Champney. 

"Sure-footed  as  a  mountain  goat!"  Champney 
said  to  himself  as  he  watched  him  cross  the  rough  hill 
top.  "I'd  like  to  know  where  he  gets  it  all !" 

He  stretched  out  under  the  pines,  his  hands  clasped 
under  his  head,  and  fell  to  thinking  of  his  own  affairs, 
into  the  as  yet  undecided  course  of  which  the  memory 
of  the  priest's  words,  "The  question  of  value  is  not, 
happily,  a  question  of  environment"  fell  with  the  force 
of  gravity. 

"I  might  as  well  go  it  blind,"  he  spoke  aloud  to  him 
self:  "it's  all  a  matter  of  luck  into  which  ring  you 
shy  your  hat;  I  suppose  it's  the  'value',  after  all, 
that  does  it  in  the  end.  Besides  —  " 

He  did  not  finish  that  thought  aloud;  but  he  sud 
denly  sat  bolt  upright,  a  fist  pressed  hard  on  each 
knee.  His  face  hardened  into  determination.  "By 
George,  what  an  ass  I've  been!  If  I  can't  do  it  in 
one  way  I  can  in  another.  —  Hoop!  Hooray!" 

He  turned  a  somersault  then  and  there;  came  right 
side  up;  cuffed  the  dazed  puppy  goodnaturedly  and 
bade  him  "Come  on",  which  behest  the  little  fellow 
obeyed  to  the  best  of  his  ability  among  the  rough  ways 
of  the  sheep  walks. 


Flamsted  Quarries  145 

He  did  not  stop  at  the  house,  but  walked  straight 
down  to  Flamsted,  Rag  lagging  at  his  heels.  He  sent 
a  telegram  to  New  York.  Then  he  went  homewards 
in  the  broiling  sun,  carrying  the  exhausted  puppy  under 
his  arm.  His  mother  met  him  on  the  porch. 

"I've  just  telegraphed  Mr.  Van  Ostend,  mother, 
that  I'll  be  in  New  York  Friday,  ready  to  sail  on 
Saturday." 

"My  dear  boy!"  That  was  all  she  said  then;  but 
she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  when  they  went  in 
to  dinner,  and  Champney  knew  she  was  satisfied. 

Two  days  later,  Champney  Googe,  having  bade 
good-bye  to  his  neighbors,  the  Caukinses  large  and 
small,  to  Octavius,  Ann  and  Hannah,  —  Aileen  was 
gone  on  an  errand  when  he  called  last  at  Champ-au- 
Haut  but  he  left  his  remembrance  to  her  with  the  latter 
—  to  his  aunt,  to  Joel  Quimber  and  Augustus,  to  Father 
Honore"  and  a  host  of  village  well-wishers  who,  in  their 
joyful  anticipation  of  his  future  and  his  fortunes,  laid 
aside  all  factional  differences,  said,  at  last,  farewell 
to  Flamsted,  to  The  Corners,  The  Bow,  and  his  home 
among  the  future  quarries  in  The  Gore. 


PART   THIRD 

In  the  Stream 


PART   THIRD 

In  the  Stream 


MRS.  MILTON  CAUKINS  had  her  trials, 
but  they  were  of  a  kind  some  people  would 
call  "blessed  torments."  The  middle-aged 
mother  of  eight  children,  six  boys,  of  whom  Romanzo 
was  the  eldest,  and  twin  girls,  Elvira  Caukins  might 
with  justice  lay  claim  to  a  superabundance  of  a  certain 
kind  of  trial.  Every  Sunday  morning  proved  the  crux 
of  her  experience,  and  Mrs.  Caukins'  nerves  were 
correspondingly  shaken.  To  use  her  own  words,  she 
"was  all  of  a  tremble"  by  the  time  she  was  dressed 
for  church. 

On  such  occasions  she  was  apt  to  speak  her  mind, 
preferably  to  the  Colonel;  but  lacking  his  presence,  to 
her  family  severally  and  collectively,  to  'Lias,  the  hired 
man,  or  aloud  to  herself  when  busy  about  her  work. 
She  had  been  known,  on  occasion,  to  acquaint  even  the 
collie  with  her  state  of  mind,  and  had  assured  the  head 
of  the  family  afterwards  that  there  was  more  sense 
of  understanding  of  a  woman's  trials  in  one  wag  of  a 
dog's  tail  than  in  most  men's  head-pieces. 

"Mr.  Caukins!"  she  called  up  the  stairway.  She 
never  addressed  her  husband  in  the  publicity  of  domestic 
life  without  this  prefix;  to  her  children  she  spoke  of 
him  as  "your  pa";  to  all  others  as  "the  Colonel." 


150  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Yes,  Elvira." 

The  Colonel's  voice  was  leisurely,  but  muffled  owing 
to  the  extra  heavy  lather  he  was  laying  about  his  mouth 
for  the  Sunday  morning  shave.  His  wife's  voice 
shrilled  again  up  the  staircase: 

"It's  going  on  nine  o'clock  and  the  boys  are  no- 
wheres  near  ready ;  I  have  n't  dressed  the  twins  yet, 
and  the  boys  are  trying  to  shampoo  each  other  — 
they've  got  your  bottle  of  bay  rum,  and  not  a  single 
shoe  have  they  greased.  I  wish  you'd  hurry  up  and 
come  down;  for  if  there's  one  thing  you  know  I  hate 
it's  to  go  into  church  after  the  beginning  of  the  first 
lesson  with  those  boys  squeaking  and  scrunching  up 
the  aisle  behind  me.  It  makes  me  nervous  and  upsets 
me  so  I  can't  find  the  place  in  my  prayer  book  half  the 
time." 

"I'll  be  down  shortly."  The  tone  was  intended  to 
be  conciliatory,  but  it  irritated  Mrs.  Caukins  beyond 
measure. 

"I  know  all  about  your  'shortlies,'  Mr.  Caukins; 
they're  as  long  as  the  rector's  sermon  this  very  Whit 
sunday  —  the  one  day  in  the  whole  year  when  the 
children  can't  keep  still  any  more  than  cows  in  fly 
time.  Did  you  get  their  peppermints  last  night  ?" 

"  'Gad,  my  dear,  I  forgot  them !    But  really  —  ",  his 
voice  was  degenerating  into  a  mumble  owing  to  the 
pressure  of  circumstances,  "  —  matters  of  such  —  er  — 
supreme  importance  —  came  —  er  —  to  my  knowledge 
last  evening  that  —  that  —  " 

"That  what?" 

" —  That  —  that  —  mm  —  mm  —  "  there  followed 
the  peculiar  noise  attendant  upon  a  general  clearing  up 
of  much  lathered  cuticle,  "  —  I  forgot  them." 

"What  matters  were  they?     You  didn't  say  any- 


Flamsted  Quarries  151 

thing  about  'supreme  importance'  last  night,  Mr. 
Caukins." 

"I'll  tell  you  later,  Elvira;  just  at  present  I  —  " 

"Was  it  anything  about  the  quarries?" 

"Mm  —  " 

"What  was  it?" 

"I  heard  young  Googe  was  expected  next  week." 

"Well,  I  declare!  I  could  have  told  you  that  much 
myself  if  you'd  been  at  home  in  any  decent  season. 
It  seems  pretty  poor  planning  to  have  to  run  down 
three  miles  to  The  Greenbush  every  Saturday  evening 
to  find  out  what  you  could  know  by  just  stepping  across 
the  bridge  to  Aurora's.  She  told  me  yesterday.  Was 
that  all?" 

"N  —  no  —  " 

"For  mercy's  sake,  Mr.  Caukins,  don't  keep  me 
waiting  here  any  longer !  It's  almost  church  time." 

"  I  was  n't  aware  that  I  was  detaining  you,  Elvira." 
The  Colonel's  protest  was  mild  but  dignified.  There 
were  sounds  above  of  renewed  activity. 

"Dulcie,"  said  Mrs.  Caukins,  turning  to  a  little  girl 
who  was  standing  beside  her,  listening  with  erected 
ears  to  her  mother's  questions  and  father's  answers, 
"go  up  stairs  into  mother's  room  and  see  if  Doosie's 
getting  ready,  there's  a  good  girl." 

"Doosie  is  with  me,  Elvira;  I  would  let  well  enough 
alone  for  the  present,  if  I  were  you,"  said  the  Colonel 
admonishingly.  His  wife  wisely  took  the  hint.  "Come 
up,  Dulcie,"  he  called,  "father's  ready."  Dulcie 
hopped  up  stairs. 

"You  have  n't  said  what  matters  of  importance  kept 
you  last  night."  Mrs.  Caukins  returned  to  her  muttons 
with  redoubled  energy. 

"Champney  came  home  unexpectedly  last  evening, 


152  Flamsted  Quarries 

and  the  syndicate  has  offered  him  a  position,  a  big  one, 
in  New  York  —  treasurer  of  the  Flamsted  Quarries 
Company;  and  our  Romanzo's  got  a  chance  too  —  " 

"  You  don't  say !  What  is  it  ?  "  Mrs.  Caukins  started 
up  stairs  whence  came  sounds  of  an  obstreperous 
bootjack. 

"Paymaster,  here  in  town;  I'll  explain  in  more  pro 
pitious  circumstances.  Has  'Lias  harnessed  yet, 
Elvira?" 

Without  deigning  to  answer,  Mrs.  Caukins  freed  her 
mind. 

"Well,  Mr.  Caukins,  I  must  say  you  grow  more  and 
more  like  that  old  ram  of  'Lias's  that  has  learned  to 
butt  backwards  just  for  the  sake  of  going  contrary  to 
nature.  I  believe  you'd  rather  tell  a  piece  of  news 
backwards  than  forwards  any  day !  Why  did  n't  you 
begin  by  telling  me  about  Romanzo?  If  your  own 
child  that's  your  flesh  and  blood  and  bone  isn't  of 
most  interest  to  you,  I'd  like  to  know  what  is !" 

The  Colonel's  reply  was  partly  inaudible  owing  to 
a  sudden  outbreak  of  altercation  among  the  boys  in 
the  room  belowr.  Mrs.  Caukins,  who  had  just  reached 
the  landing,  turned  in  her  tracks  and  hurried  to  the 
rescue. 

The  Colonel  smiled  at  the  rosy,  freshly-shaved  face 
reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  old-fashioned  dressing- 
case,  and,  at  the  same  time,  caught  the  reflection  of 
another  image  —  that  of  his  hired  man,  'Lias,  who 
was  crossing  the  yard.  He  went  to  the  window  and 
leaned  out,  stemming  his  hands  on  the  sill. 

"There  seems  to  be  the  usual  Sunday  morning  row 
going  on  below,  'Lias.  I  fear  the  boys  are  shampooing 
each  other's  heads  with  the  backs  of  their  brushes  from 
the  sounds." 


Flamsted  Quarries  153 

'Lias  smiled,  and  nodded  understandingly. 

"  Just  look  in  and  lend  a  hand  in  case  Mrs.  Caukins 
should  be  outnumbered,  will  you?  I'm  engaged  at 
present."  And  deeply  engaged  he  was  to  the  twins' 
unspeakable  delight.  Whistling  softly  an  air  from  "  II 
Trovatore,"  he  rubbed  some  orange-flower  water  on  his 
chin  and  cheeks;  then  taking  a  fresh  handkerchief, 
dabbed  several  drops  on  the  two  little  noses  that  waited 
upon  him  weekly  in  expectation  of  this  fragrant  boon. 
He  was  rewarded  by  a  few  satisfactory  kisses. 

"  Now  run  away  and  help  mother  —  coach  leaves  at 
nine  forty-five  pre-cisely.  I  forgot  the  peppermints, 
but  —  "he  slapped  his  trousers'  pockets  significantly. 

The  twins  shouted  with  delight  and  rushed  away  to 
impart  the  news  to  the  boys. 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  the  secret  of  your  boys' 
conduct  in  church,  Colonel  Caukins;  it's  exemplary. 
I  don't  understand  it,  for  boys  will  be  boys,"  said  the 
rector  one  Sunday  several  years  before  when  all  the 
boys  were  young.  He  had  taken  note  of  their  want  of 
restlessness  throughout  the  sermon. 

The  Colonel's  mouth  twitched;  he  answered 
promptly,  but  avoided  his  wife's  eyes. 

"All  in  the  method,  I  assure  you.  We  Americans 
have  spent  a  generation  in  experimenting  with  the  in 
ductive,  the  subjective  method  in  education,  and  the 
result  is,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  dismal  failure. 
The  future  will  prove  the  value  of  the  objective,  the 
deductive  —  which  is  mine,"  he  added  with  a  senten 
tious  emphasis  that  left  the  puzzled  rector  no  wiser 
than  before. 

"Whatever  the  method,  Colonel,  you  have  a  fine 
family;  there  is  no  mistake  about  that,"  he  said 
heartily. 


1 54  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  Colonel  beamed  and  responded  at  once : 

"  'Blessed  is  the  man  that  hath  his  quiver 
full'  —  " 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Caukins  surreptitiously  poked  the 
admonitory  end  of  her  sunshade  between  the  Colonel's 
shoulder  blades,  and  the  Colonel,  comprehending, 
desisted  from  further  quotation  of  scripture.  It  was 
not  his  strong  point.  Once  he  had  been  known  to 
quote,  not  only  unblushingly  but  triumphantly,  during 
a  touch-and-go  discussion  of  the  labor  question  in  the 
town  hall:  —  "The  ass,  gentlemen,  is  worthy  of  his 
hire";  and  in  so  doing  had  covered  Mrs.  Caukins  with 
confusion  and  made  a  transient  enemy  of  every  wage- 
earner  in  the  audience. 

But  his  boys  behaved  —  that  was  the  point.  What 
boys  would  n't  when  their  heart's  desire  was  conveyed 
to  them  at  the  beginning  of  the  sermon  by  a  secret- 
service-under-the-pew  process  wholly  delightful  to  the 
young  human  male  ?  Who  would  n't  be  quiet  for  the 
sake  of  the  peppermints,  a  keen  three-bladed  knife,  or 
a  few  gelatine  fishes  that  squirmed  on  his  warm  moist 
palm  in  as  lively  a  manner  as  if  just  landed  on  the 
lake  shore?  Their  father  had  been  a  boy,  and  at  fifty 
had  a  boy's  heart  within  him  —  this  was  the  secret  of 
his  success. 

Mrs.  Caukins  appeared  at  last,  radiant  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  a  new  chip  hat  and  silk  blouse.  Dulcie 
and  Doosie  in  white  lawn  did  their  pains-taking  mother 
credit  in  every  respect.  The  Colonel  gallantly  pre 
sented  his  wife  with  a  small  bunch  of  early  roses  —  an 
attention  which  called  up  a  fine  bit  of  color  into  her 
still  pretty  face.  'Lias  helped  her  into  the  three-seated 
wagon,  then  lifted  in  the  twins ;  the  boys  piled  in  after 
wards;  the  Colonel  took  the  reins.  Mrs.  Caukins 


Flamsted  Quarries  155 

waved  her  sunshade  vigorously  at  'Lias  and  gave  a 
long  sigh  of  relief  and  satisfaction. 

"Well,  we're  off  at  last!  I  declare  I  miss  Maggie 
every  hour  in  the  day.  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
have  done  all  these  years  without  that  girl !" 

The  mention  of  "Maggie"  emphasizes  one  of  the 
many  changes  in  Flamsted  during  the  six  years  of 
Champney  Googe's  absence.  Mrs.  Caukins,  urged 
by  her  favorite,  Aileen,  and  advised  by  Mrs.  Googe 
and  Father  Honore,  had  imported  Margaret  O'Dowd, 
the  "Freckles  "  of  the  asylum,  as  mother's  helper  six 
months  after  Aileen's  arrival  in  Flamsted.  For  nearly 
six  years  Maggie  loyally  seconded  Mrs.  Caukins  in 
the  care  of  her  children  and  her  household.  Slow, 
but  sure  and  dependable,  strong  and  willing,  she  made 
herself  invaluable  in  the  stone  house  among  the  sheep 
pastures;  her  stunted  affections  revived  and  flourished 
apace  in  that  household  of  well-cared-for  children  to 
whom  both  parents  were  devoted.  It  cost  her  a  heart 
ache  to  leave  them;  but  six  months  ago  burly  Jim 
McCann,  one  of  the  best  workmen  in  the  sheds  — 
although  of  unruly  spirit  and  a  source  of  perennial 
trouble  among  the  men  —  began  to  make  such  deter 
mined  love  to  the  mother's  helper  that  the  Caukinses 
found  themselves  facing  inevitable  loss.  Maggie  had 
been  married  three  months;  and  already  McCann 
had  quarrelled  with  the  foreman,  and,  in  a  huff,  de 
spite  his  wife's  tears  and  prayers,  sought  of  his  own 
accord  work  in  another  and  far  distant  quarry. 

"Maggie  told  me  she'd  never  leave  off  teasing  Jim 
to  bring  her  back,"  said  the  fifth  eldest  Caukins.  — 
"  Oh,  look !"  he  cried  as  they  rumbled  over  the  bridge ; 
"there's  Mrs.  Googe  and  Champney  on  the  porch 
waving  to  us !" 


156  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  Colonel  took  off  his  hat  with  a  flourish;  the 
boys  swung  theirs;  Mrs.  Caukins  waved  her  sunshade 
to  mother  and  son. 

"I  declare,  I'd  like  to  stop  just  a  minute,"  she  said 
regretfully,  for  the  Colonel  continued  to  drive  straight 
on.  "I'm  so  glad  for  Aurora's  sake  that  he's  come 
home;  I  only  hope  our  Romanzo  will  do  as  well." 

"It  would  be  an  intrusion  at  such  a  time,  Elvira. 
The  effusions  of  even  the  best-intentioned  friends  are 
injudicious  at  the  inopportune  moment  of  domestic 
reunion." 

Mrs.  Caukins  subsided  on  that  point.  She  was 
always  depressed  by  the  Colonel's  grandiloquence, 
which  he  usually  reserved  for  The  Greenbush  and 
the  town-meeting,  without  being  able  to  account  for 
it. 

"He'll  see  a  good  many  changes  here;  it's  another 
Flamsted  we're  living  in,"  she  remarked  later  on  when 
they  passed  the  first  stone-cutters'  shed  on  the  oppo 
site  shore  of  the  lake ;  and  the  family  proceeded  to  com 
ment  all  the  way  to  church  on  the  various  changes 
along  the  route. 

It  was  in  truth  another  Flamsted,  the  industrial 
Flamsted  which  the  Colonel  predicted  six  years  be 
fore  on  that  memorable  evening  in  the  office  of  The 
Greenbush. 

To  watch  the  transformation  of  a  quiet  back-country 
New  England  village  into  the  life-centre  of  a  great  and 
far-reaching  industry,  is  in  itself  a  liberal  education, 
not  only  in  economics,  but  in  inherited  characteristics 
of  the  human  race.  Those  first  drops  of  "the  deluge," 
the  French  priest  and  the  Irish  orphan,  were  followed 
by  an  influx  of  foreigners  of  many  nationalities:  Scotch, 


Flamsted  Quarries  157 

Irish,  Italians,  Poles,  Swedes,  Canadian  French;  and 
with  these  were  associated  a  few  American-born. 

Their  life-problem,  the  earning  of  wages  for  the  sus 
tenance  of  themselves  and  their  families,  wras  one  they 
had  in  common.  Its  solution  was  centred  for  one  and 
all  in  their  work  among  the  granite  quarries  of  The 
Gore  and  in  the  stone-cutters'  sheds  on  the  north 
shore  of  Lake  Mesantic.  These  two  things  the  hun 
dreds  belonging  to  a  half-dozen  nationalities  possessed 
in  common  —  these,  and  their  common  humanity  to 
gether  with  the  laws  to  which  it  is  subject.  But  aside 
from  this,  their  speech,  habits,  customs,  religions,  food, 
and  pastimes  were  polyglot;  on  this  account  the  lines 
of  racial  demarkation  were  apt,  at  times,  to  be  drawn 
all  too  sharply.  Yet  this  very  fact  of  differentiation 
provided  hundreds  of  others  —  farmers,  shopkeepers, 
jobbers,  machinists,  mechanics,  blacksmiths,  small 
restaurant-keepers,  pool  and  billiard  room  owners  — 
with  ample  sources  of  livelihood. 

This  internal  change  in  the  community  of  Flamsted 
corresponded  to  the  external.  During  those  six  years 
the  very  face  of  nature  underwent  transformation. 
The  hills  in  the  apex  of  The  Gore  were  shaved  clean 
of  the  thin  layer  of  turf,  and  acres  of  granite  laid  bare 
to  the  drill.  Monster  derricks,  flat  stone-cars,  dummy 
engines,  electric  motors,  were  everywhere  in  evidence. 
Two  glittering  steel  tracks  wound  downwards  through 
old  watercourses  to  the  level  of  the  lake,  and  to  the 
huge  stone-cutting  sheds  that  stretched  their  gray 
length  along  the  northern  shore.  Here  the  quarried 
stones,  tons  in  weight,  were  unloaded  by  the  great 
electric  travelling  crane  which  picks  up  one  after  the 
other  with  automatic  perfection  of  silence  and  accuracy, 
and  deposits  them  wherever  needed  by  the  workmen. 


158  Flamsted  Quarries 

A  colony  of  substantial  three-room  houses,  two  large 
boarding-houses,  a  power  house  and,  farther  up  be 
yond  the  pines,  a  stone  house  and  a  long  low  building, 
partly  of  wood,  partly  of  granite  waste  cemented, 
circled  the  edges  of  the  quarry. 

The  usual  tale  of  workmen  in  the  fat  years  was 
five  hundred  quarrymen  and  three  hundred  stone 
cutters.  This  population  of  working-men,  swelled  to 
three  thousand  by  the  addition  of  their  families,  in 
creased  or  diminished  according  as  the  years  and  seasons 
proved  fat  or  lean.  A  ticker  on  Wall  Street  was  suffi 
cient  to  give  to  the  great  industry  abnormal  life  and 
activity,  and  draw  to  the  town  a  surplus  working 
population.  A  feeling  of  unrest  and  depression,  long- 
continued  in  metropolitan  financial  circles,  was  re 
sponded  to  with  sensitive  pulse  on  these  far-away  hills 
of  Maine  and  resulted  in  migratory  flights,  by  tens 
and  twenties,  of  Irish  and  Poles,  of  Swedes,  Ital 
ians,  French  Canucks,  and  American-born  to  more 
favorable  conditions.  "Here  one  day  and  gone  the 
next";  even  the  union  did  not  make  for  stability  of 
tenure. 

In  this  ceaseless  tidal  ebb  and  flow  of  industrials, 
the  original  population  of  Flamsted  managed  at  times 
to  come  to  the  surface  to  breathe ;  to  look  about  them ; 
to  speculate  as  to  "what  next?"  for  the  changes  were 
rapid  and  curiosity  was  fed  almost  to  satiety.  A  fruit 
ful  source  of  speculation  was  Champney  Googe's  long 
absence  from  home,  already  six  years,  and  his  pros 
pects  when  he  should  have  returned.  Speculation  was 
also  rife  when  Aurora  Googe  crossed  the  ocean  to 
spend  a  summer  with  her  son;  at  one  time  rumors 
were  afloat  that  Champney's  prospective  marriage  with 
a  relation  of  the  Van  Ostends  was  near  at  hand,  and 


Flamsted  Quarries  159 

this  was  said  to  be  the  cause  of  his  mother's  rather 
sudden  departure.  But  on  her  return,  Mrs.  Googe 
set  all  speculation  in  this  direction  at  rest  by  denying 
the  rumor  most  emphatically,  and  adding  the  informa 
tion  for  every  one's  benefit  that  she  had  gone  over  to 
be  with  Champney  because  he  did  not  wish  to  come 
home  at  the  time  his  contract  with  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
permitted. 

Once  during  the  past  year,  the  village  wise  heads 
foregathered  in  the  office  of  The  Greenbush  .to  discuss 
the  very  latest :  —  the  coming  to  Flamsted  of  seven 
Sisters,  Daughters  of  the  Mystic  Rose,  who,  foreseeing 
the  suppression  of  their  home  institution  in  France, 
had  come  to  prepare  a  refuge  for  their  order  on  the 
shores  of  America  and  found  another  home  and  school 
among  the  quarrymen  in  this  distant  hill-country  of 
the  new  Maine  —  an  echo  of  the  old  France  of  their 
ancestors.  This  was  looked  upon  as  an  undreamed-of 
innovation  exceeding  all  others  that  had  come  to  their 
knowledge;  it  remained  for  old  Joel  Quimber  to  enter 
the  lists  as  champion  of  the  newcomers,  their  cause, 
and  their  school  which,  with  Father  Honore's  aid, 
they  at  once  established  among  the  barren  hills  of  The 
Gore. 

''Hounded  out  er  France,  poor  souls,  just  like  my 
own  great-great-great -granther's  father!"  he  said,  re 
ferring  to  the  subject  again  on  that  last  Saturday 
evening  when  the  frequenters  of  The  Greenbush  were 
to  be  stirred  shortly  by  the  news  they  considered  best 
of  all :  Champney  Googe's  unexpected  arrival.  "  I  was 
up  thar  yisterd'y  an'  it  beats  all  how  snug  they're 
fixed !  The  schoolroom's  ez  neat  as  a  pin,  an'  pitchers 
on  the  walls  wuth  a  day's  journey  to  see.  They're 
havin'  a  room  built  onto  the  farther  "end  —  a  kind  of  er 


160  Flamsted  Quarries 

relief  hospital,  so  Father  Honore*  told  me  —  ter  help 
out  when  the  quarrymen  git  a  jammed  foot  er  finger, 
so's  they  need  n't  be  took  home  to  muss  up  their  little 
cabins  an'  worrit  their  wives  an'  little  'uns.  I  heerd 
Aileen  hed  ben  goin'  up  thar  purty  reg'lar  lately  for 
French  an'  sich ;  guess  Mis'  Champney  's  done  'bout 
the  right  thing  by  her,  eh,  Tave?  " 

Octavius  nodded.  "  And  Aileen 's  done  the  right 
thing  by  Mrs.  Champney.  'T  is  n't  every  young  girl 
that  would  stick  to  it  as  Aileen  's  done  the  last  six  years 
—  not  in  the  circumstances." 

"You're  right,  Tave.  I  heerd  not  long  ago  thet  she 
was  a-goin'  on  the  stage  when  she'd  worked  out  her 
freedom,  and  by  A.  J.  she's  got  the  voice  for  it !  But 
I'd  hate  ter  see  her  thar.  She's  made  a  lot  er  sunshine 
in  this  place,  and  I  guess  from  all  I  hear  there's  them 
thet  would  stan'  out  purty  stiff  agin  it;  they  say  Luigi 
Poggi  an'  Romanzo  Caukins  purty  near  fit  over  her 
t'  other  night." 

"  You  need  n't  believe  all  you  hear,  Joel,  but  you  can 
believe  me  when  I  tell  you  there'll  be  no  going  on  the 
stage  for  Aileen  —  not  if  I  know  it,  or  Father  Honore 
either." 

He  spoke  so  emphatically  that  his  brother  Augustus 
looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"What's  up,  Tave?"  he  inquired. 

"I  mean  Aileen's  got  a  level  head  and  is  n't  going  to 
leave  just  as  things  are  beginning  to  get  interesting. 
She's  stood  it  six  year  and  she  can  stand  it  six  more 
if  she  makes  up  her  mind  to  it,  and  I'd  ought  to  know, 
seeing  as  I've  lived  writh  her  ever  since  she  come  to 
Flamsted." 

"To  be  sure,  Tave,  to  be  sure;  nobody  knows 
better 'n  you,  'bout  Aileen,  an'  I  guess  she's  come  to 


Flamsted  Quarries  161 

look  on  you,  from  all  I  hear,  as  her  special  piece  of 
property."  His  brother  spoke  appeasingly. 

Octavius  smiled.  "Well,  I  don't  deny  but  she  lays 
claim  to  me  most  of  the  time;  it 's  'Octavius'  here  and 
'  Octavius '  there  all  day  long.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Champ- 
ney  ruffs  up  about  it,  but  Aileen  has  a  way  of  smooth 
ing  her  down,  generally  laughs  her  out  of  it.  Is  that 
the  Colonel?"  He  listened  to  a  step  on  the  veranda. 
"  Don't  let  on  'bout  anything  'twixt  Romanzo  and 
Aileen  before  the  Colonel,  Joel." 

"  You  don't  hev  ter  say  thet  to  me,"  said  old  Quimber 
resentfully;  "anybody  can  see  through  a  barn  door 
when  thar's  a  hole  in  it.  All  on  us  know  Mis'  Champ- 
ney's  a-breakin';  they  do  say  she's  hed  a  shock,  least 
wise  I  heerd  so,  an'  Aileen '11  look  out  for  A  No.  i.  I 
ain't  lived  to  be  most  eighty  in  Flamsted  for  nothin', 
an'  I've  seen  an'  heerd  more'n  I've  ever  told,  Tave; 
more'n  even  you  know  'bout  some  things.  You  don't 
remember  the  time  old  Square  Googe  took  Aurory  inter 
his  home  to  bring  up  an'  Judge  Champney  said  he  was 
sorry  he'd  got  ahead  of  him  for  he  wanted  to  adopt  her 
for  a  daughter  himself;  them's  his  words;  I  heerd 
him.  An'  I  can  tell  more  'n  — 

"Shut  up,  Quimber,"  said  Octavius  shortly;  and 
Joel  Quimber  "shut  up,"  but,  winking  knowingly  at 
Augustus  Buzzby,  continued  to  chuckle  to  himself  till 
the  Colonel  entered  who,  beginning  to  expatiate  upon 
the  subject  of  Champney  Googe' s  prospects  when  he 
should  have  returned  to  the  home-welcome  awaiting 
him,  was  happily  interrupted  by  the  announcement  of 
that  young  man's  unexpected  arrival  on  the  evening 
train. 


II 


CHAMPNEY  GOOGE  was  beginning  to  realize, 
as  he  stood  on  the  porch  with  his  mother  and 
waved  to  his  old  neighbors,  the  Caukinses,  the 
changed  conditions  he  was  about  to  face.  He  was  also 
realizing  that  he  must  change  to  meet  these  conditions. 
On  his  way  up  from  the  train  Saturday  evening,  he 
noted  the  power  house  at  The  Corners  and  the  sub 
stantial  line  of  comfortable  cottages  that  extended  for 
a  mile  along  the  highroad  to  the  entrance  of  the  village. 
He  found  Main  Street  brilliant  with  electric  lights  and 
lined  nearly  its  entire  length  with  shops,  large  and 
small,  which  were  thronged  with  week-end  purchasers. 
An  Italian  fruit  store  near  The  Greenbush  bore  the 
proprietor's  name,  Luigi  Poggi;  as  he  drove  past  he 
saw  an  old  Italian  woman  bargaining  with  smiles  and 
lively  gestures  over  the  open  counter.  Farther  on, 
from  an  improvised  wooden  booth,  the  raucous  voice 
of  the  phonograph  was  jarring  the  night  air  and  enter 
taining  a  motley  group  gathered  in  front  of  it.  Across 
the  street  a  flaunting  poster  announced  "Moving  Pic 
ture  Show  for  a  Nickel."  Vehicles  of  all  descriptions, 
from  a  Maine  "jigger"  to  a  "top  buggy,"  were  sta 
tionary  along  the  village  thoroughfare,  their  various 
steeds  hitched  to  every  available  stone  post.  In  front 
of  the  rectory  some  Italian  children  were  dancing  to 
the  jingle  of  a  tambourine. 

On  nearing  The   Bow  the  confusion  ceased;    the 
polyglot  sounds  were  distinguishable  only  as  a  murmur. 


Flamsted  Quarries  163 

In  passing  Champ-au-Haut,  he  looked  up  at  the  house ; 
here  and  there  a  light  shone  behind  drawn  shades.  Six 
years  had  passed  since  he  was  last  there;  six  years  — 
and  time  had  not  dulled  the  sensation  of  that  white 
pepper  in  his  nostrils !  He  smiled  to  himself.  He  must 
see  Aileen  before  he  left,  for  from  time  to  time  he  had 
heard  good  reports  of  her  trom  his  mother  with  whom 
she  had  become  a  favorite.  He  thought  she  must  be 
mighty  plucky  to  stand  Aunt  Meda  all  this  time !  He 
gathered  from  various  sources  that  Mrs.  Champney 
was  growing  peculiar  as  she  approached  three  score 
and  ten.  Her  rare  letters  to  him,  however,  were  kind 
enough.  But  he  was  sure  Aileen's  anomalous  place  in 
the  household  at  Champ-au-Haut  —  neither  servant 
nor  child  of  the  house,  never  adopted,  but  only  main 
tained  —  could  have  been  no  sinecure.  Anyway,  he 
knew  she  had  kept  the  devotion  of  her  two  admirers, 
Romanzo  Caukins  and  Octavius  Buzzby.  From  a  hint  in 
his  aunt's  last  letter,  he  drew  the  conclusion  that  Aileen 
and  Romanzo  would  make  a  match  of  it  before  long, 
when  Romanzo  should  be  established.  At  any  rate, 
Aileen  had  wit  enough,  he  was  sure,  to  know  on  which 
side  her  bread  was  buttered,  and  from  all  he  heard  by  the 
way  of  letters,  Romanzo  Caukins  was  not  to  be  sneezed 
at  as  a  prospective  husband  —  a  steady-going,  solid 
sort  of  a  chap  who,  he  was  told,  had  a  chance  now  like 
himself  in  the  quarry  business.  He  must  credit  Aunt 
Meda  with  this  one  bit  of  generosity,  at  least ;  Mr.  Van 
Ostend  told  him  she  had  applied  to  him  for  some  work 
ing  position  for  Romanzo  in  the  Flamsted  office,  and 
not  in  vain ;  he  was  about  to  be  put  in  as  paymaster. 

As  he  drove  slowly  up  the  highroad  towards  The 
Gore,  he  saw  the  stone-cutters'  sheds  stretching  dim 
and  gray  in  the  moonlight  along  the  farther  shore.  A 


164  Flamsted  Quarries 

standing  train  of  loaded  flat-cars  gleamed  in  the  electric 
light  like  a  long  high-piled  drift  of  new-fallen  snow. 
Here  and  there,  on  approaching  The  Gore,  an  arc- 
light  darkened  the  hills  round  about  and  sent  its 
blinding  glare  into  the  traveller's  eyes.  At  last,  his 
home  was  in  sight  —  his  home  !  —  he  wondered  that 
he  did  not  experience  a  greater  thrill  of  homecoming  — 
and  behind  and  above  it  the  many  electric  lights  in  and 
around  the  quarries  produced  hazy  white  reflections 
concentrated  in  luminous  spots  on  the  clear  sky. 

His  mother  met  him  on  the  porch.  Her  greeting  was 
such  that  it  caused  him  to  feel,  and  for  the  first  time, 
that  where  she  was,  there,  henceforth,  his  true  home 
must  ever  be. 

"It  will  be  hard  work  adjusting  myself  at  first, 
mother,"  he  said,  turning  to  her  after  watching  the 
wagonload  of  Caukinses  out  of  sight,  "harder  than  I 
had  any  idea  of.  A  foreign  business  training  may 
broaden  a  man  in  some  ways,  but  it  leaves  his  muscles 
flabby  for  real  home  work  here  in  America.  You  make 
your  fight  over  there  with  gloves,  and  here  only  bare 
knuckles  are  of  any  use;  but  I'm  ready  for  it!"  He 
smiled  and  squared  his  shoulders  as  to  an  imaginary 
load. 

"You  don't  regret  it,  do  you,  Champney?" 
"Yes  and  no,  mother.  I  don't  regret  it  because  I 
have  gained  a  certain  knowledge  of  men  and  things 
available  only  to  one  who  has  lived  over  there;  but  I 
do  regret  that,  because  of  the  time  so  spent,  I  am,  at 
twenty-seven,  still  hugging  the  shore  —  just  as  I  was 
when  I  left  college.  After  all  these  years  I'm  not  'in 
it'  yet;  but  I  shall  be  soon,"  he  added;  the  hard  de 
termined  ring  of  steadfast  purpose  was  in  his  voice. 


Flamsted  Quarries  165 

He  sat  down  on  the  lower  step:  his  mother  brought  for 
ward  her  chair. 

"Champney,"  she  spoke  half  hesitatingly;  she  did 
not  find  it  easy  to  question  the  man  before  her  as  she 
used  to  question  the  youth  of  twenty-one,  "would  you 
mind  telling  me  if  there  ever  was  any  truth  in  the  rumor 
that  somehow  got  afloat  over  here  three  years  ago  that 
you  were  going  to  marry  Ruth  Van  Ostend  ?  Of  course, 
I  denied  it  when  I  got  home,  for  I  knew  you  would 
have  told  me  if  there  had  been  anything  to  it." 

Champney  clasped  his  hands  about  his  knee  and 
nursed  it,  smiling  to  himself,  before  he  answered : 

"  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  make  a  clean  breast  of  the 
whole  affair,  which  is  little  enough,  mother,  even  if  I 
did  n't  cover  myself  with  glory  and  come  out  with 
colors  flying.  You  see  I  was  young  and,  for  all  my  four 
years  in  college,  pretty  green  when  it  came  to  the  real 
life  of  those  people  — 

"You  mean  the  Van  Ostends?" 

"Yes,  their  kind.  It's  one  thing  to  accept  their 
favors,  and  it's  quite  another  to  make  them  think  you 
are  doing  them  one.  So  I  sailed  in  to  make  Ruth  Van 
Ostend  interested  in  me  as  far  as  possible,  circumstances 
permitting  —  and  you  '11  admit  that  a  yachting  trip  is 
about  as  favorable  as  they  make  it.  You  know  she's 
three  years  older  than  I,  and  I  think  it  flattered  and 
amused  her  to  accept  my  devotion  for  a  while,  but 
then  —  " 

"But,  Champney,  did  you  love  her?" 

"Well,  to  be  honest,  mother,  I  hadn't  got  that  far 
myself  —  don't  know  that  I  ever  should  have ;  any 
way,  I  wanted  to  get  her  to  the  point  before  I  went 
through  any  self-catechism  on  that  score." 

"But,  Champney!"  She  spoke  with  whole-hearted 
protest. 


1 66  Flamsted  Quarries 

He  nodded  up  at  her  imderstandingly.  "I  know  the 
'but',  mother;  but  that's  how  it  stood  with  me.  You 
know  they  were  in  Paris  the  next  spring  and,  of  course, 
I  saw  a  good  deal  of  them  —  and  of  many  others  who 
were  dancing  attendance  on  the  heiress  to  the  same 
tune  that  I  was.  But  I  caught  on  soon,  and  saw  all 
the  innings  were  with  one  special  man;  and,  well — 
I  didn't  make  a  fool  of  myself,  that's  all.  As  you 
know,  she  was  married. the  autumn  after  your  return, 
three  years  ago." 

"You're  sure  you  really  did  n't  mind,  Champney?" 

He  laughed  out  at  that.  "Mind!  Well,  rather! 
You  see  it  knocked  one  of  my  little  plans  higher  than 
a  kite  —  a  plan  I  made  the  very  day  I  decided  to  ac 
cept  Mr.  Van  Ostend's  offer.  Of  course  I  minded." 

"What  plan?" 

"Wonder  if  I'd  better  tell  you,  mother?  I'd  like  to 
stand  well  in  your  good  graces  —  " 

"Oh,  Champney!" 

"  Fact,  I  would.  Well,  here  goes  then :  I  decided  - 
I  was  lying  up  under  the  pines,  you  know  that  day  I 
didn't  want  to  accept  his  offer?"  —  she  nodded  con- 
firmatorily  —  "  that  if  I  could  n't  have  an  opportunity 
to  get  rich  quick  in  one  way,  I  would  in  another;  and, 
in  accepting  the  offer,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  try  for 
the  sister  and  her  millions;  if  successful,  I  intended  to 
take  by  that  means  a  short  cut  to  matrimony  and 
fortune." 

"Oh,  Champney!" 

"  Young  and  fresh  and  —  hardened,  was  n't  it, 
mother?" 

"You  were  so  young,  so  ignorant,  so  unused  to 
that  sort  of  living;  you  had  no  realization  of  the  diffi 
culties  of  life  —  of  love  — ." 


Flamsted  Quarries  167 

She  began  speaking  as  if  in  apology  for  his  weakness, 
but  ended  with  the  murmured  words  "life  —  love",  in 
a  voice  so  tense  with  pain  that  it  sounded  as  if  the 
major  dominant  of  youth  and  ignorance  suddenly 
suffered  transcription  into  a  haunting  minor. 

Her  son  looked  up  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Why,  mother,  don't  take  it  so  hard;  I  assure  you 
I  did  n't.  It  brought  me  down  to  bed  rock,  for  I  was 
making  a  conceited  ass  of  myself  that's  all,  in  thinking 
I  could  have  roses  for  fodder  instead  of  thistles  —  and 
just  for  the  asking !  It  did  me  no  end  of  good.  I  shall 
never  rush  in  again  where  even  angels  fear  to  tread 
except  softly  —  I  mean  the  male  wingless  kind  —  worth 
a  couple  of  millions ;  she  has  seven  in  her  own  right.  — 
But  we're  the  best  of  friends." 

He  spoke  without  bitterness.  His  mother  felt, 
however,  at  the  moment,  that  she  would  have  pre 
ferred  to  hear  a  note  of  keen  disappointment  in 
his  explanation  rather  than  this  tone  of  lightest 
persiflage. 

"I  don't  see  how  —  "  she  began,  but  checked  her 
self.  A  slight  flush  mounted  in  her  cheeks. 

"See  how  what,  mother?  Please  don't  leave  me 
dangling;  I'm  willing  to  take  all  you  can  give.  I 
deserve  it." 

"I  wasn't  going  to  blame  you,  Champney.  I'm  the 
last  one  to  do  that  —  Life  teaches  each  in  her  own  way. 
I  was  only  thinking  I  did  n't  see  how  any  girl  could 
resist  loving  you,  dear." 

"  Oh,  ho !  Don't  you,  mother  mine  !  Well,  commend 
me  to  a  doting  — 

"I'm  not  doting,  Champney,"  she  protested,  laugh 
ing;  "I  know  your  faults  better  than  you  know  them 
yourself." 


1 68  Flamsted  Quarries 

"A  doting  mother,  I  say,  to  brace  up  a  man  fallen 
through  his  pride.  Do  you  mean  to  say"  — ,  he  sprang 
to  his  feet,  faced  her,  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his 
pockets,  his  face  alive  with  the  fun  of  the  moment,  — 
"do  you  mean  to  say  that  if  you  were  a  girl  I  should 
prove  irresistible  to  you?  Come  now,  mother,  tell  me, 
honor  bright." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  The  flush  faded  sud 
denly  in  her  cheeks,  leaving  them  unnaturally  white; 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"I  should  worship  you,"  she  said  under  her  breath, 
and  dropped  her  head  into  her  hands.  He  sprang  up 
the  steps  to  her  side. 

"Why,  mother,  mother,  don't  speak  so.  I'm  not 
worthy  of  it  —  it  shames  me.  Here,  look  up,"  he  took 
her  bowed  head  tenderly  between  his  hands  and  raised 
it,  "look  into  my  face;  read  it  well  —  interpret,  and 
you  will  cease  to  idealize,  mother." 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  half-smiling  through  her  tears. 
"I'm  not  idealizing,  Champney,  and  I  didn't  know  I 
could  be  so  weak ;  I  think  —  I  think  the  telegram  and 
your  coming  so  unexpectedly  —  " 

"I  know,  mother,"  he  spoke  soothingly,  "it  was  too 
much;  you've  been  too  long  alone.  I'm  glad  I'm  at 
home  at  last  and  can  run  up  here  almost  any  time." 
He  patted  her  shoulder  softly,  and  whistled  for  Rag. 
"Come,  put  on  your  shade  hat  and  we'll  go  up  to  the 
quarries.  I  want  to  see  them;  do  you  realize  they  are 
the  largest  in  the  country?  It's  wonderful  what  a 
change  they've  made  here !  After  all,  it  takes  America 
to  forge  ahead,  for  we've  got  the  opportunities  and  the 
money  to  back  them  —  and  what  more  is  needed  to 
make  us  great?"  He  spoke  lightly,  expecting  no 
answer. 


Flamsted  Quarries  169 

She  brought  her  hat  and  the  two  went  up  the  side 
road  under  the  elms  to  the  quarry. 

Ay,  what  more  is  needed  to  make  us  great?  That 
is  the  question.  There  comes  a  time  when  a  man, 
whose  ears  are  not  wholly  deafened  by  the  roar  of  a 
trafficking  commercialism,  asks  this  question  of  him 
self  in  the  hope  that  some  answer  may  be  vouchsafed 
to  him.  If  it  come  at  all,  it  comes  like  the  "  still  small 
voice"  after  the  whirlwind;  and  the  man  who  asks 
that  question  in  the  expectation  of  a  response,  must 
first  have  suffered,  repented,  struggled,  fought,  at 
times  succumbed  to  fateful  overwhelming  circum 
stance,  before  his  soul  can  be  attuned  so  finely  that  the 
"still  small  voice"  becomes  audible.  Youth  and  that 
question  are  not  synchronous. 

"I've  not  been  so  much  alone  as  you  imagine, 
Champney,"  said  his  mother.  They  were  picking  their 
way  over  the  granite  slopes  and  around  to  Father 
Honore's  house.  "Aileen  and  Father  Honore  and  all 
the  Caukinses  and,  during  this  last  year,  those  sweet 
women  of  the  sisterhood  have  brought  so  much  life 
into  my  life  up  here  among  these  old  sheep  pastures 
that  I've  not  had  the  chance  to  feel  the  loneliness  I 
otherwise  should.  And  then  there  is  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  summer  with  you  over  the  ocean  —  I  feed 
constantly  on  the  remembrance  of  all  that  delight." 

"I'm  glad  you  had  it,  mother." 

"Besides,  this  great  industry  is  so  many-sided  that 
it  keeps  me  interested  in  every  new  development  in 
spite  of  myself." 

"By  the  way,  mother,  you  wrote  me  that  you  had 
invested  most  of  that  twenty  thousand  from  the  quarry 
lands  in  bank  stock,  did  n't  you?" 


170  Flamsted  Quarries 

"  Yes ;  Mr.  Emlie  is  president  now ;  he  is  considered 
safe.  The  deposits  have  quadrupled  these  last  two 
years,  and  the  dividends  have  been  satisfactory." 

"Yes,  I  know  Emlie's  safe  enough,  but  you  don't 
want  to  tie  up  your  money  so  that  you  can't  convert  it 
at  once  into  cash  if  advisable.  You  know  I  shall  be 
on  the  inside  track  now  and  in  a  position  to  use  a  little 
of  it  at  a  time  judiciously  in  order  to  increase  it  for 
you.  I'd  like  to  double  it  for  you  as  Aunt  Meda  has 
doubled  her  inheritance  from  grandfather  —  Who's 
that?" 

He  stopped  short  and,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hat, 
nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  sisterhood  house  that 
stood  perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile  beyond  the  pines. 
His  mother,  following  his  look,  saw  the  figure  of  a  girl 
dodge  around  the  corner  of  the  house.  Before  she 
could  answer,  Rag,  the  Irish  terrier,  who  had  been 
nosing  disconsolately  about  on  the  barren  rock,  sud 
denly  lost  his  head.  With  one  short  suppressed  yelp, 
he  laid  his  heels  low  to  the  slippery  granite  shelves 
and  scuttled,  scurried,  scrambled,  tore  across  the  in 
tervening  quarry  hollow  like  a  bundle  of  brown  tow 
driven  before  a  hurricane. 

Mrs.  Googe  laughed.  "No  need  to  ask  'who'  when 
you  see  Rag  go  mad  like  that!  It's  Aileen;  Rag  has 
been  devoted  to  her  ever  since  you've  been  gone.  I 
wonder  why  she  isn't  at  church?" 

The  girl  disappeared  in  the  house.  Again  and  again 
Champney  whistled  for  his  dog  but  Rag  failed  to  put 
in  an  appearance. 

"He'll  need  to  be  re-trained.  It  is  n't  well,  even  for 
a  dog,  to  be  under  such  petticoat  government  as  that; 
it  spoils  him.  Only  I'm  afraid  I  sha'n't  be  at  home 
long  enough  to  make  him  hear  to  reason." 


Flamsted  Quarries  171 

"Aileen  has  him  in  good  training.  She  knows  the 
dog  adores  her  and  makes  the  most  of  it.  Oh,  I  forgot 
to  tell  you  I  sent  word  to  Father  Honore  this  morning 
to  come  over  to  tea  to-night.  I  knew  you  would  like  to 
see  him,  and  he  has  been  anticipating  your  return." 

"Has  he?  What  for  I  wonder.  By  the  way,  where 
did  he  take  his  meals  after  he  left  you?" 

"Over  in  the  boarding-house  with  the  men.  He 
stayed  with  me  only  three  months,  until  his  house  was 
built.  He  has  an  old  French  Canadian  for  housekeeper 
now." 

"He's  greatly  beloved,  I  hear." 

"The  Gore  wouldn't  be  The  Gore  without  him," 
Mrs.  Googe  spoke  earnestly.  "The  Colonel"  —  she 
laughed  as  she  always  did  when  about  to  quote  her 
rhetorical  neighbor  —  "  speaks  of  him  to  everyone  as 
'the  heart  of  the  quarry  that  responds  to  the  throb  of 
the  universal  human,'  and  so  far  as  I  know  no  one  has 
ever  taken  exception  to  it,  for  it's  true." 

"I  remember  —  he  was  an  all  round  fine  man.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  him  again.  He  must  find  some 
pretty  tough  customers  up  here  to  deal  with,  and  the 
Colonel's  office  is  no  longer  the  soft  snap  it  was  for 
fifteen  years,  I'll  bet." 

"No,  that's  true;  but,  on  the  whole,  there  is  less 
trouble  than  you  would  expect  among  so  many  national 
ities.  Is  n't  it  queer  ?  —  Father  Honore  says  that  most 
of  the  serious  trouble  comes  from  disputes  between  the 
Hungarians  and  Poles  about  religious  questions.  They 
are  apt  to  settle  it  with  fists  or  something  worse.  But 
he  and  the  Colonel  have  managed  well  between  them; 
they  have  settled  matters  with  very  few  arrests." 

"I  can't  imagine  the  Colonel  in  that  role."  Champ- 
ney  laughed.  "What  does  he  do  with  all  his  rhetorical 


172  Flamsted  Quarries 

trumpery  at  such  times?  I've  never  seen  him  under 
fire  —  in  fact,  he  never  had  been  when  I  left." 

"  I  know  he  does  n't  like  it.  He  told  me  he  should  n't 
fill  the  office  after  another  year.  You  know  he  was 
obliged  to  do  it  to  make  both  ends  meet ;  but  since  the 
opening  of  the  quarries  he  has  really  prospered  and  has 
a  market  right  here  in  town  for  all  the  mutton  he  can 
raise.  I'm  so  glad  Romanzo  's  got  a  chance." 

They  rambled  on,  crossing  the  apex  of  The  Gore 
and  getting  a  good  view  of  the  great  extent  of  the  opened 
quarries.  Their  talk  drifted  from  one  thing  to  another, 
Champney  questioning  about  this  one  and  that,  until, 
as  they  turned  homewards,  he  declared  he  had  picked 
up  the  many  dropped  stitches  so  fast,  that  he  should 
feel  no  longer  a  stranger  in  his  native  place  when  he 
should  make  his  first  appearance  in  the  town  the  next 
day.  He  wanted  to  renew  acquaintance  with  all  the 
people  at  Champ-au-Haut  and  the  old  habitues  of  The 
Greenbush. 


Ill 


HE  walked  down  to  Champ-au-Haut  the  next 
afternoon.  Here  and  there  on  the  mountain 
side  and  along  the  highroad  he  noticed  the 
massed  pink  and  white  clusters  of  the  sheep  laurel. 
Every  singing  bird  was  in  full  voice ;  thrush  and  vireo, 
robin,  meadow  lark,  song-sparrow  and  catbird  were 
singing  as  birds  sing  but  once  in  the  whole  year ;  when 
the  mating  season  is  at  its  height  and  the  long  migra 
tory  flight  northwards  is  forgotten  in  the  supreme  in 
stinctive  joy  of  the  ever-new  miracle  of  procreation. 

When  he  came  to  The  Bow  he  went  directly  to  the 
paddock  gate.  He  was  hoping  to  find  Octavius  some 
where  about.  He  wanted  to  interview  him  before 
seeing  any  one  else,  in  regard  to  Rag  who  had  not 
returned.  The  recalcitrant  terrier  must  be  punished 
in  a  way  he  could  not  forget;  but  Champney  was  not 
minded  to  administer  this  well-deserved  chastisement 
in  the  presence  of  the  dog's  protectress.  He  feared  to 
make  a  poor  first  impression. 

He  stopped  a  moment  at  the  gate  to  look  down  the 
lane  —  what  a  beautiful  estate  it  was !  He  wondered 
if  his  aunt  intended  leaving  anything  of  it  to  the  girl 
she  had  kept  with  her  all  these  years.  Somehow  he 
had  received  the  impression,  whether  from  Mr.  Van 
Ostend  or  his  sister  he  could  not  recall,  that  she  once 
said  she  did  not  mean  to  adopt  her.  His  mother  never 
mentioned  the  matter  tolhim ;  indeed,  she  shunned  all  men 
tion,  when  possible,  of  Champ-au-Haut  and  its  owner. 


174  Flamsted  Quarries 

In  his  mind's  eye  he  could  still  see  this  child  as  he 
saw  her  on  the  stage  at  the  Vaudeville,  clad  first  in  rags, 
then  in  white;  as  he  saw  her  again  dressed  in  the 
coarse  blue  cotton  gown  of  orphan  asylum  order, 
sitting  in  the  shade  of  the  boat  house  on  that  hot  after 
noon  in  July,  and  rubbing  her  greasy  hands  in  glee; 
as  he  saw  her  for  the  third  time  leaning  from  the  bed 
room  window  and  listening  to  his  improvised  serenade. 
Well,  he  had  a  bone  to  pick  with  her  about  his  dog; 
that  would  make  things  lively  for  a  while  and  serve 
for  an  introduction.  He  reached  over  to  unlatch  the 
gate.  At  that  moment  he  heard  Octavius'  voice  in 
violent  protest.  It  came  from  behind  a  group  of  apple 
trees  down  the  lane  in  the  direction  of  the  milking 
shed. 

"Now  don't  go  for  to  trying  any  such  experiment 
as  that,  Aileen;  you'll  fret  the  cow  besides  mussing 
your  clean  dress." 

"I  don't  care;  it'll  wash.  Now,  please,  do  let  me, 
Tave,  just  this  once." 

"I  tell  you  the  cow  won't  give  down  her  milk  if  you 
take  hold  of  her.  She'll  get  all  in  a  fever  having  a 
girl  fooling  round  her."  There  followed  the  rattle  of 
pails  and  a  stool. 

"Now,  look  here,  Octavius  Buzzby,  who  knows  best 
about  a  cow,  you  or  I?" 

"Well,  seeing  as  I've  made  it  my  business  to  look 
after  cows  ever  since  I  was  fifteen  year  old,  you  can't 
expect  me  to  give  in  to  you  and  say  you  do." 

Her  merry  laugh  rang  out.  Champney  longed  to 
echo  it,  but  thought  best  to  lie  low  for  a  while  and 
enjoy  the  fun  so  unexpectedly  provided. 

"  Tavy,  dear,  that  only  goes  to  prove  you  are  a  mere 
man ;  a  dear  one  to  be  sure  —  but  then  !  Don't  you 


Flamsted  Quarries  175 

flatter  yourself  for  one  moment  that  you,  or  any 
other  man,  really  know  any  creature  of  the  feminine 
gender  from  a  woman  to  a  cow.  You  simply  can't, 
Tavy,  because  you  are  n't  feminine.  Can  you  com 
prehend  that?  Can  you  say  on  your  honor  as  a  man 
that  you  have  ever  been  able  to  tell  for  certain  what 
Mrs.  Champney,  or  Hannah,  or  I,  for  instance,  or  this 
cow,  or  the  cat,  or  Bellona,  when  she  hasn't  been 
ridden  enough,  or  the  old  white  hen  you've  been  trying 
to  force  to  sit  the  last  two  weeks,  is  going  to  do  next? 
Now,  honor  bright,  have  you?" 

Octavius  was  grumbling  some  reply  inaudible  to 
Champney. 

"No,  of  course  you  haven't;  and  what's  more  you 
never  will.  Not  that  it's  your  fault,  Tavy,  dear,  it's 
only  your  misfortune."  Exasperating  patronage  was 
audible  in  her  voice.  Champney  noted  that  a  trace  of 
the  rich  Irish  brogue  was  left.  "Here,  give  me  that 
pail." 

"I  tell  you,  Aileen,  you  can't  do  it;  you've  never 
learned  to  milk." 

"  Oh,  have  n't  I  ?  Look  here,  Tave,  now  no  more 
nonsense ;  Romanzo  taught  me  how  two  years  ago  — 
but  we  both  took  care  you  should  n't  know  anything 
about  it.  Give  me  that  pail."  This  demand  was 
peremptory. 

Evidently  (  jtavius  was  weakening,  for  Champney 
heard  again  the  rattle  of  the  pails  and  the  stool;  then 
a  swish  of  starched  petticoat  and  a  cooing  "There, 
there,  Bess." 

He  opened  the  gate  noiselessly  and  closing  it  behind 
him  walked  down  the  lane.  The  golden  light  of  the 
June  sunset  was  barred,  where  it  lay  upon  the  brilliant 
green  of  the  young  grass,  with  the  long  shadows  of  the 


176  Flamsted  Quarries 

apple-tree  trunks.  He  looked  between  the  thick  foliage 
of  the  low-hanging  branches  to  the  milking  shed.  The 
two  were  there.  Octavius  was  looking  on  dubiously; 
Aileen  was  coaxing  the  giant  Holstein  mother  to  stand 
aside  at  a  more  convenient  angle  for  milking. 

"  Hold  her  tail,  Tave,"  was  the  next  command. 

She  seated  herself  on  the  stool  and  laid  her  cheek 
against  the  warm,  shining  black  flank;  her  hands 
manipulated  the  rosy  teats ;  then  she  began  to  sing : 

"O  what  are  you  seeking  my  pretty  colleen, 
So  sadly,  tell  me  now!"  — 
"O'er  mountain  and  plain 

I'm  searching  in  vain 
Kind  sir,  for  my  Kerry  cow." 

The  milk,  now  drumming  steadily  into  the  pail, 
served  for  a  running  accompaniment  to  the  next  verses. 

"Is  she  black  as  the  night  with  a  star  of  white 
Above  her  bonny  brow? 

And  as  clever  to  clear 

The  dykes  as  a  deer?  "  — 
"That's  just  my  own  Kerry  cow." 

"Then  cast  your  eye  into  that  field  of  wheat 
She  's  there  as  large  as  life."  — 
"My  bitter  disgrace! 
Howe'er  shall  I  face 
.The  farmer  and  his  wife?  " 

What  a  voice !  And  what  a  picture  she  made  lean 
ing  caressingly  against  the  charmed  and  patient  Bess ! 
She  was  so  slight,  yet  round  and  supple  —  strong, 
too,  with  the  strength  of  perfect  health !  The  thick 
fluffed  black  hair  was  rolled  awray  from  her  face  and 
gathered  into  a  low  knot  in  the  nape  of  her  neck.  Her 


What  a  picture  she  made  leaning  caressingly  against  the 
charmed  and  patient  Bess"  Page  176 


Flamsted  Quarries  177 

dress  cut  low  at  the  throat  enhanced  the  white 
purity  of  her  face  and  the  slim  round  grace  of  her 
neck  which  showed  to  advantage  against  the  ebony 
flank  of  the  mother  of  many  milky  ways.  Her  lips 
were  red  and  full;  the  nose  was  a  saucy  stub;  the 
eyes  he  could  not  see ;  they  were  downcast,  intent  upon 
her  filling  pail  and  the  rising  creamy  foam;  but  he 
knew  them  to  be  an  Irish  blue-gray. 

"Since  the  farmer's  unwed  you've  no  cause  to  dread 
From  his  wife,  you  must  allow. 

And  for  kisses  three  — 

'T  is  myself  is  he  — 
The  farmer  will  free  your  cow." 

The  song  ceased;  the  singer  was  giving  her  un 
divided  attention  to  her  self-imposed  task.  Octavius 
took  a  stool  and  began  work  with  another  cow.  Champ- 
ney,  nothing  loath  to  prolong  the  pleasure  of  looking  at 
the  improvised  milkmaid,  waited  before  making  his 
presence  known  until  she  should  have  finished. 

And  watching  her,  he  could  but  wonder  at  the  ways 
of  Chance  that  had  cast  this  little  piece  of  foreign 
flotsam  upon  the  shores  of  America,  only  to  sweep  it 
inland  to  this  village  in  Maine.  He  could  not  help 
comparing  her  with  Alice  Van  Ostend  —  what  a  con 
trast  !  What  an  abyss  between  the  circumstances  of 
the  two  lives !  Yet  this  one  was  decidedly  charming, 
more  so  than  the  other;  for  he  was  at  once  aware  that 
Aileen  was  already  in  possession  of  her  womanhood's 
dower  of  command  over  all  poor  mortals  of  the  oppo 
site  sex  —  her  manner  with  Octavius  showed  him  that ; 
and  Alice  when  he  saw  her  last,  now  nearly  six  months 
ago,  would  have  given  any  one  the  impression  of  some 
thing  still  unfledged  —  a  tall,  slim,  overgrown  girl  of 


178  Flamsted  Quarries 

sixteen,  and  somewhat  spoiled.  This  was  indeed  only 
natural,  for  her  immediate  world  of  father,  aunt,  and 
relations  had  circled  ever  since  her  birth  in  the  orbit  of 
her  charming  wilfulness.  Champney  acknowledged 
to  himself  that  he  had  done  her  bidding  a  little  too 
frequently  ever  since  the  first  yachting  trip,  when  as  a 
little  girl  she  attached  herself  to  him,  or  rather  him  to 
her  as  a  part  of  her  special  goods  and  chattels.  At  that 
time  their  common  ground  for  conversation  was  Aileen ; 
the  child  was  never  tired  of  his  rehearsing  for  her  de 
light  the  serenade  scene.  But  in  another  year  she  lost 
this  interest,  for  many  others  took  its  place ;  nor  was  it 
ever  renewed. 

The  Van  Ostends,  together  with  Ruth  and  her  hus 
band,  had  been  living  the  last  three  winters  in  Paris, 
Mr.  Van  Ostend  crossing  and  recrossing  as  his  business 
interests  demanded  or  permitted.  Champney  was 
much  with  them,  for  their  home  was  always  open  to 
him  who  proved  an  ever  welcome  guest.  He  acknowl 
edged  to  himself,  while  participating  in  the  intimacy 
of  their  home  life,  that  if  the  child's  partiality  to  his 
companionship,  so  undisguisedly  expressed  on  every 
occasion,  should,  in  the  transition  periods  of  girlhood 
and  young  womanhood,  deepen  into  a  real  attachment, 
he  would  cultivate  it  with  a  view  to  asking  her  in  mar 
riage  of  her  father  when  the  time  should  show  itself 
ripe.  In  his  first  youthful  arrogance  of  self-assertion 
he  had  miscalculated  with  Ruth  Van  Ostend.  He 
would  make  provision  that  this  "undeveloped  affair"  — 
so  he  termed  it  —  with  her  niece  should  not  miscarry 
for  want  of  caution.  He  intended  while  waiting  for 
Alice  to  grow  up  —  a  feat  which  her  aunt  was  always 
deploring  as  an  impossibility  except  in  a  physical  sense 
—  to  make  himself  necessary  in  this  young  life.  Thus 


Flamsted  Quarries  179 

far  he  had  been  successful;  her  weekly  girlish  letters 
conclusively  proved  it. 

While  waiting  for  the  milk  to  cease  its  vigorous  flow, 
he  was  conscious  of  reviewing  his  attitude  towards  the 
"  undeveloped  affair"  in  some  such  train  of  thought,  and 
finding  in  it  nothing  to  condemn,  rather  to  commend, 
in  fact;  for  not  for  the  fractional  part  of  a  second  did 
he  allow  a  thought  of  it  to  divert  his  mind  from  the 
constant  end  in  view :  the  making  for  himself  a  recog 
nized  place  of  power  in  the  financial  world  of  affairs. 
He  knew  that  Mr.  Van  Ostend  was  aware  of  this  stead 
fast  pursuit  of  a  purpose.  He  knew,  moreover,  that  the 
fact  that  the  great  financier  was  taking  him  into  his 
New  York  office  as  treasurer  of  the  Flamsted  Quarries, 
was  a  tacit  recognition  not  only  of  his  six  years'  appren 
ticeship  in  some  of  the  largest  banking  houses  in 
Europe,  but  of  his  ability  to  acquire  that  special  power 
which  was  his  goal.  In  the  near  future  he  would 
handle  and  practically  control  millions  both  in  receipt 
and  disbursement.  Many  of  the  contracts,  already 
signed,  were  to  be  filled  within  the  next  three  years  — 
the  sound  of  the  milking  suddenly  ceased. 

"My,  how  my  wrists  ache!  See,  Tave,  the  pail  is 
almost  full;  there  must  be  twelve  or  fourteen  quarts 
in  all." 

She  began  to  rub  her  wrists  vigorously.  Octavius 
muttered:  "I  told  you  so.  You  might  have  known 
you  could  n't  milk  steady  like  that  without  getting  all 
tuckered  out." 

Champney  stepped  forward  quickly.  "Right  you 
are,  Tave,  every  time.  How  are  you,  dear  old  chap?" 
He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Champ  —  Champney  —  why  —  "  he  stammered 
rather  than  spoke. 


180  Flamsted  Quarries 

"It's  I,  Tave;  the  same  old  sixpence.  Have  I 
changed  so  much?" 

"  Changed  ?  I  should  say  so  !  I  thought  —  I 
thought  — "  he  was  wringing  Champney's  hand; 
some  strange  emotion  worked  in  his  features  —  "I 
thought  for  a  second  it  was  Air.  Louis  come  to  life." 
He  turned  to  Aileen  who  had  sprung  from  her  stool. 
"Aileen,  this  is  Mr.  Champney  Googe;  you've  for 
gotten  him,  I  dare  say,  in  all  these  years." 

The  rich  red  mantled  her  cheeks;  the  gray  eyes 
smiled  up  frankly  into  his;  she  held  out  her  hand. 
"Oh,  no,  I've  not  forgotten  Mr.  Champney  Googe; 
how  could  I?" 

"Indeed,  I  think  it  is  the  other  way  round;  if  I  re 
member  rightly  you  gave  me  the  opportunity  of  never 
forgetting  you."  He  held  her  hand  just  a  trifle  longer 
than  was  necessary.  The  girl  smiled  and  withdrew  it. 

"Milky  hands  are  not  so  sticky  as  spruce  gum  ones, 
Mr.  Googe,  but  they  are  apt  to  be  quite  as  unpleasant." 

Champney  was  annoyed  without  in  the  least  know 
ing  why.  He  was  wondering  if  he  should  address  her 
as  "Aileen"  or  "Miss  Armagh,"  when  Octavius  spoke: 

"Aileen,  just  go  on  ahead  up  to  the  house  and  tell 
Mrs.  Champney  Mr.  Googe  is  here."  Aileen  went  at 
once,  and  Octavius  explained. 

"  You  see,  Champney  —  Mr.  Googe  —  " 

"Have  I  changed  so  much,  Tave,  that  you  can't  use 
the  old  name?" 

"You've  changed  a  sight;  it  don't  come  easy  to  call 
you  Champ,  any  more  than  it  did  to  call  Mr.  Louis 
by  his  Christian  name.  You  look  a  Champney  every 
inch  of  you,  and  you  act  like  one."  He  spoke  em 
phatically;  his  small  keen  eyes  dwelt  admiringly  on 
the  face  and  figure  of  the  tall  man  before  him.  "I 


Flamsted  Quarries  181 

thought  't  was  better  to  send  Aileen  on  ahead,  for 
Mrs.  Champney  's  broken  a  good  deal  since  you  saw 
her;  she  can't  stand  much  excitement  —  and  you're 
the  living  image."  He  called  for  the  boy  who  had 
taken  Romanzo's  place.  "  I  '11  go  up  as  far  as  the  house 
with  you.  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay?" 

"It  depends  upon  how  long  it  takes  me  to  investi 
gate  these  quarries,  learn  the  ropes.  A  week  or  two 
possibly.  I  am  to  be  treasurer  of  the  Company  with 
my  office  in  New  York." 

"So  I  heard,  so  I  heard.  I'm  glad  it's  come  at  last 
—  no  thanks  to  her"  he  added,  nodding  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  house. 

"Do  you  still  hold  a  grudge,  Tave?" 

"Yes,  and  always  shall.  Right's  right  and  wrong's 
wrong,  and  there  ain't  a  carpenter  in  this  world  that 
can  dovetail  the  two.  You  and  your  mother  have  been 
cheated  out  of  your  rights  in  what  should  be  yours, 
and  it's  ten  to  one  if  you  ever  get  a  penny  of  it." 

Champney  smiled  at  the  little  man's  indignation. 
"All  the  more  reason  to  congratulate  me  on  my  job, 
Tave." 

"Well,  I  do;  only  it  don't  set  well,  this  other  busi 
ness.  She  ain't  helped  you  any  to  it?"  He  asked  half 
hesitatingly. 

"Not  a  red  cent,  Tave.  I  don't  owe  her  anything. 
Possibly  she  will  leave  some  of  it  to  this  same  Miss 
Aileen  Armagh.  Stranger  things  have  happened." 
Octavius  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  Champney.  She  likes  Aileen 
and  well  she  may,  but  she  don't  like  her  well  enough 
to  give  her  a  slice  off  of  this  estate;  and  what's  more 
she  don't  like  any  living  soul  well  enough  to  part  with 
a  dollar  of  it  on  their  account." 


182  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Is  there  any  one  Aunt  Meda  ever  did  love,  Tave? 
From  all  I  remember  to  have  heard,  [when  I  was  a 
boy,  she  was  always  bound  up  pretty  thoroughly  in 
herself." 

"  Did  she  ever  love  any  one  ?  Well  she  did ;  that  was 
her  husband,  Louis  Champney,  who  loved  you  as  his 
own  son.  And  it's  my  belief  that's  the  reason  you 
don't  get  your  rights.  She  was  jealous  as  the  devil  of 
every  word  he  spoke  to  you." 

"You're  telling  me  news  —  and  late  in  the  day." 

"Late  is  better  than  never,  and  I'd  always  meant 
to  tell  you  when  you  come  to  man's  estate  —  but 
you've  been  away  so  long,  I've  thought  sometimes 
you  was  never  coming  home;  but  I  hoped  you  would 
for  your  mother's  sake,  and  for  all  our  sakes." 

"I'm  going  to  do  what  I  can,  but  you  mustn't  de 
pend  too  much  on  me,  Tave.  I'm  glad  I'm  at  home 
for  mother's  sake  although  I  always  felt  she  had  a  good 
right  hand  in  you,  Tave;  you've  always  been  a  good 
friend  to  her,  she  tells  me." 

Octavius  Buzzby  swallowed  hard  once,  twice;  but 
he  gave  him  no  reply.  Champney  wondered  to  see  his 
face  work  again  with  some  emotion  he  failed  to  explain 
satisfactorily  to  himself. 

"There's  Mrs.  Champney  on  the  terrace;  I  won't 
go  any  farther.  Come  in  when  you  can,  won't  you?" 

"  I  shall  be  pretty  apt  to  run  in  for  a  chat  almost  any 
time  on  my  wray  to  the  village."  He  waved-  his  hand 
in  greeting  to  his  aunt  and  sprang  up  the  steps  leading 
to  the  terrace. 

He  bent  to  kiss  her  and  was  shocked  by  the  change 
in  her  that  was  only  too  apparent :  the  delicate  fea 
tures  were  sharpened;  the  temples  sunken;  her 
abundant  light  brown  hair  was  streaked  heavily  with 


Flamsted  Quarries  183 

white;  the  hands  had  grown  old,  shrunken,  the  veins 
prominent. 

"Kiss  me  again,  Champney,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  closing  her  eyes  when  he  bent  again  to  fulfil  her 
request.  When  she  opened  them  he  noticed  that  the 
lids  were  trembling  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
twitched.  But  she  rallied  in  a  moment  and  said 
sharply : 

"Now,  don't  say  you're  sorry  —  I  know  all  about 
how  I  look;  but  I'm  better  and  expect  to  outlive  a 
good  many  well  ones  yet." 

She  told  Aileen  to  bring  another  chair.  Champney 
hastened  to  forestall  her;  his  aunt  shook  her  finger  at 
him. 

"  Don't  begin  by  spoiling  her,"  she  said.  Then  she 
bade  her  make  ready  the  little  round  tea-table  on  the 
terrace  and  serve  tea. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her?"  she  asked  him  after 
Aileen  had  entered  the  house.  She  spoke  with  a  direct 
ness  of  speech  that  warned  Champney  the  question  was 
a  cloak  to  some  other  thought  on  her  part. 

"That  she  does  you  credit,  Aunt  Meda.  I  don't 
know  that  I  can  pay  you  or  her  a  greater  compliment." 

"Very  well  said.  You've  learned  all  that  over  there 
—  and  a  good  deal  more  besides.  There  have  been  no 
folderols  in  her  education.  I've  made  her  practical. 
Come,  draw  up  your  chair  nearer  and  tell  me  some 
thing  of  the  Van  Ostends  and  that  little  Alice  who  was 
the  means  of  Aileen's  coming  to  me.  I  hear  she  is 
growing  to  be  a  beauty." 

"  Beauty  —  well,  I  should  n't  say  she  was  that,  not 
yet;  but  'little.'  She  is  fully  five  feet  six  inches  with 
the  prospect  of  an  additional  inch." 

"I  did  n't  realize  it.    When  are  they  coming  home?" 


184  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Early  in  the  autumn.  Alice  says  she  is  going  to 
come  out  next  winter,  not  leak  out  as  the  other  girls  in 
her  set  have  done ;  and  what  Alice  wants  she  generally 
manages  to  have." 

"  Let  me  see  —  she  must  be  sixteen ;  why  that 's  too 
young!" 

"Seventeen  next  month.  She's  very  good  fun 
though." 

"Like  her?"  She  looked  towards  the  house  where 
Aileen  was  visible  with  a  tea-tray. 

"Well,  no;  at  least,  not  along  her  lines  I  should  say. 
She  seems  to  have  Tave  pretty  well  under  her  thumb." 

Mrs.  Champney  smiled.  "Octavius  thought  he 
could  n't  get  used  to  it  at  first,  but  he's  reconciled  now; 
he  had  to  be.  —  Call  her  Aileen,  Champney;  you 
must  n't  let  her  get  the  upper  hand  of  you  by  making 
her  think  she's  a  woman  grown,"  she  added  in  a  low 
tone,  for  the  girl  was  approaching  them,  slowly  on  ac 
count  of  the  loaded  tray  she  was  carrying. 

Champney  left  his  seat  and  taking  the  tea-things 
from  her  placed  them  on  the  table.  Aileen  busied 
herself  with  setting  all  in  order  and  twirling  the  tea- 
ball  in  each  cup  of  boiling  water,  as  if  she  had  been 
used  to  this  ultra  method  of  making  tea  all  her  life. 

"By  the  way,  Aileen  —  " 

He  checked  himself,  for  such  a  look  of  amazement 
was  in  the  quickly  lifted  gray  eyes,  such  a  surprised 
arch  was  visible  in  the  dark  brows,  that  he  realized  his 
mistake  in  hearing  to  his  aunt's  request.  He  felt  he 
must  make  himself  whole,  and  if  possible  without 
further  delay. 

"  Oh,  I  see  that  it  must  still  be  Miss  Aileen  Armagh- 
and-don't-you-forget-it !"  he  exclaimed,  laughing  to 
cover  his  confusion. 


Flamsted  Quarries  185 

She  laughed  in  turn;  she  could  not  help  it  at  the 
memories  this  title  called  to  mind.  "Well,  it's  best  to 
be  particular  with  strangers,  isn't  it?"  Down  went 
the  eyes  to  search  in  the  bottom  of  a  teacup. 

"I  fancied  we  were  not  wholly  that;  I  told  Aunt 
Meda  about  our  escapade  six  years  ago;  surely,  that 
affair  ought  to  establish  a  common  ground  for  our  con 
tinued  acquaintance.  But,  if  that's  not  sufficient, 
I  can  find  another  nearer  at  hand  —  where 's  my 
dog?" 

This  brought  her  to  terms. 

"Oh,  I  can't  do  anything  with  Rag,  Mr.  Googe; 
I'm  so  sorry.  He's  over  in  the  coach  house  this  very 
minute,  and  Tave  was  going  to  take  him  home  to-night. 
Just  think !  That  seven-year-old  dog  has  to  be  carried 
home,  old  as  he  is!" 

"If  it's  come  to  that,  I'll  take  him  home  under  my 
arm  to-night  —  that  is,  if  he  won't  follow;  I'll  try 
that  first." 

"But  you're  not  going  to  punish  him!  —  and  simply 
because  he  likes  me.  That  would  n't  be  fair !" 

She  made  her  protest  indignantly.  Champney 
looked  at  his  aunt  with  an  amused  smile.  She  nodded 
understandingly. 

"Oh,  no;  not  simply  because  he  likes  you,  but  be 
cause  he  is  untrue  to  me,  his  master." 

"But  that  isn't  fair!"  she  exclaimed  again,  her 
cheeks  flushing  rose  red;  "you've  been  away  so  long 
that  the  dog  has  forgotten." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  has  n't ;  or  if  he  has  I  must  jog  his 
memory.  He's  Irish,  and  the  supreme  characteristic 
of  that  breed  is  fidelity." 

"Well,  so  am  I  Irish,"  she  retorted  pouting;  she 
began  to  make  him  a  second  cup  of  tea  by  twirling  the 


1 86  Flamsted  Quarries 

silver  tea-ball  in  the  shallow  cup  until  the  hot  water 
flew  over  the  edge;  "but  I  should  n't  consider  it  neces 
sary  to  be  faithful  to  any  one  who  had  forgotten  and 
left  me  for  six  years." 

"You  wouldn't?"  Champney's  eyes  challenged 
hers,  but  either  she  did  not  understand  their  message 
or  she  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  heed  it. 

"No  I  wouldn't;  what  for?  I  like  Rag  and  he 
likes  me,  and  we  have  been  faithful  to  each  other;  it 
would  be  downright  hypocrisy  on  his  part  to  like  you 
after  all  these  years." 

"How  about  you?"  Champney  grew  bold  because 
he  knew  his  aunt  was  enjoying  the  girl's  entanglement 
as  much  as  he  was.  She  was  amused  at  his  daring  and 
Aileen's  earnestness.  "Didn't  you  tell  me  in  Tave's 
presence  only  just  now  that  you  could  n't  forget  me  ? 
How  is  that  for  fidelity?  And  why  excuse  Rag  on 
account  of  a  six  years'  absence?  " 

"Well,  of  course,  he's  your  dog,"  she  said  loftily,  so 
evading  the  question  and  ignoring  the  laugh  at  her 
expense. 

"Yes,  he's  my  dog  if  he  is  a  backslider,  and  that 
settles  it."  He  turned  to  his  aunt.  "I'll  run  in  again 
to-morrow,  Aunt  Meda,  I  must  n't  wear  my  welcome 
out  in  the  first  two  days  of  my  return." 

"  Yes,  do  come  in  when  you  can.  I  suppose  you  will 
be  here  a  month  or  two?" 

"No;  only  a  week  or  two  at  most;  but  I  shall  run 
up  often;  the  business  will  require  it."  He  looked  at 
Aileen.  "Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  come  over  with  me 
to  the  coach  house,  Miss  Armagh,  and  hand  my  prop 
erty  over  to  me?  Good-bye,  Aunt  Meda." 

Aileen  rose.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes,  Mrs. 
Champney,  or  will  you  go  in  now?" 


Flamsted  Quarries  187 

"There's  no  dew,  and  the  air  is  so  fresh  I'll  sit  here 
till  you  come." 

The  two  went  down  the  terrace  steps  side  by  side. 
Mrs.  Champney  watched  them  out  of  sight;  there  was 
a  kindling  light  in  her  faded  eyes. 

"Now,  we'll  see,"  said  Champney,  as  they  neared 
the  coach  house  and  saw  in  the  window  the  bundle  of 
brown  tow  with  black  nose  flattened  on  the  pane  and 
eyes  filled  with  longing  under  the  tangled  topknot.. 
The  stub  of  a  tail  was  marking  time  to  the  canine 
heartbeats.  Champney  opened  the  door;  the  dog 
scurried  out  and  sprang  yelping  for  joy  upon  Aileen. 

"Rag,  come  here!"  The  dog's  day  of  judgment 
was  in  that  masculine  command.  The  little  terrier 
nosed  Aileen's  hand,  hesitated,  then  pressed  more 
closely  to  her  side.  The  girl  laughed  out  in  merry 
triumph.  Champney  noted  that  she  showed  both  sets 
of  her  strong  white  teeth  when  she  laughed. 

"Rag,  dear  old  boy!"  She  parted  with  caressing 
fingers  the  skein  of  tow  on  the  frowsled  head. 

"Come  on,  Rag."  Champney  whistled  and  started 
up  the  driveway.  The  terrier  fawned  on  Aileen, 
slavered,  snorted,  sniffed,  then  crept  almost  on  his 
belly,  tail  stiff,  along  the  ground  after  Champney  who 
turned  and  laid  his  hand  on  him.  The  dog  crouched 
in  the  road.  He  gently  pulled  the  stumps  of  ears  — 
"Now  come!" 

He  went  whistling  up  the  road,  and  the  terrier, 
recognizing  his  master,  trotted  in  a  lively  manner  after 
him. 

Champney  turned  at  the  gate  and  lifted  his  hat. 
"How  about  fidelity  now,  Miss  Armagh?"  He  wanted 
to  tease  in  payment  for  that  amazed  look  she  gave  him 
for  taking  a  liberty  with  her  Christian  name. 


1 88  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Well,  of  course,  he's  your  dog,"  she  called  merrily 
after  him,  "but  /  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  I'd  been 
Rag!" 

Champney  found  himself  wondering  on  the  home 
ward  way  if  she  really  meant  what  she  said. 


IV 

IT   was   a   careless    question,   carelessly   put,   and 
yet  —  Aileen    Armagh,    before    she    returned    to 
the  house,  was  also  asking  herself  if  she  meant 
what  she  said,  asking  it  with  an  unwonted  timidity  of 
feeling  she  could  not  explain.     On  coming  in  sight  of 
the  terrace,   she  saw  that  Mrs.   Champney  was  still 
there.    She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  crossed  the  lawn 
to  the  boat  house.    She  wanted  to  sit  there  a  while  in 
the  shade,  to  think  things  out  with  herself  if  possible. 
What  did  this  mean  —  this  strange  feeling  of  timidity  ? 

The  course  of  her  life  was  not  wholly  smooth.  It 
was  inevitable  that  two  natures  like  hers  and  Mrs. 
Champney's  should  clash  at  times,  and  the  impact  was 
apt  to  be  none  of  the  softest.  Twice,  Aileen,  making  a 
confidant  of  Octavius,  threatened  to  run  away,  for  the 
check  rein  was  held  too  tightly,  and  the  young  life  be 
came  restive  under  it.  When  the  child  first  came  to 
Champ-au-Haut,  its  mistress  recognized  at  once  that 
in  her  mischief,  her  wilfulness,  her  emphatic  assertion 
of  her  right  of  way,  there  was  nothing  vicious,  and  to 
Octavius  Buzzby's  amazement,  she  dealt  with  her,  on 
the  whole,  leniently. 

"She  amuses  me,"  she  would  say  when  closing  an 
eye  to  some  of  Aileen's  escapades  that  gave  a  genuine 
shock  to  Octavius  in  the  region  of  his  local  prejudices. 

There  had  been,  indeed,  no  "folderols"  in  her  educa 
tion.  Sewing,  cooking,  housework  she  was  taught  root 
and  branch  in  the  time  not  spent  at  school,  both  gram- 


190  Flamsted  Quarries 

mar  and  high.  During  the  last  year  Mrs.  Champney 
permitted  her  to  learn  French  and  embroidery  in  a 
systematic  manner  at  the  school  established  by  the 
gentle  Frenchwomen  in  The  Gore;  but  she  steadily 
refused  to  permit  the  girl  to  cultivate  her  voice  through 
the  medium  of  proper  instruction.  This  denial  of  the 
girl's  strongest  desire  was  always  a  common  subject  of 
dissension  and  irritation;  however,  after  Aile^en  was 
seventeen  a  battle  royal  of  words  between  the  two  was 
a  rare  occurrence. 

At  the  same  time  she  never  objected  to  Aileen's  ex 
ercising  her  talent  in  her  own  way.  Father  Honore 
encouraged  her  to  sing  to  the  accompaniment  of  his 
violin,  knowing  well  that  the  instrument  would  do  its 
share  in  correcting  faults.  She  sang,  too,  with  Luigi 
Poggi,  her  "knothole  boy"  of  the  asylum  days;  and, 
as  seven  years  before,  Nonna  Lisa  often  accompanied 
with  her  guitar.  The  old  Italian,  who  had  managed  to 
keep  in  touch  with  her  one-time  protegee,  and  her  grand 
son  Luigi,  made  their  appearance  in  the  village  one 
summer  after  Aileen  had  been  two  years  in  Flamsted. 
Luigi,  now  that  his  vaudeville  days  were  over,  was  in 
search  of  work  at  the  quarries;  his  grandmother  was 
to  keep  house  for  him  till  he  should  be  able  to  establish 
himself  in  trade  —  the  goal  of  so  many  of  his  thrifty 
countrymen. 

These  two  Italians  were  typical  of  thousands  of  their 
nationality  who  come  to  our  shores ;  whom  our  national 
life,  through  naturalization  and  community  of  interests, 
is  able  in  a  marvellously  short  time  to  assimilate  — 
and  for  the  public  good.  Intelligent,  business-like, 
keen  at  a  bargain,  but  honest  and  graciously  gentle 
and  friendly  in  manner,  Luigi  Poggi  soon  established 
himself  in  the  affections  of  Flamsted  —  in  no  one's 


Flamsted  Quarries  191 

more  solidly  than  in  Elmer  Wiggins',  strange  to  say, 
who  capitulated  to  the  "foreigner's"  progressive  busi 
ness  methods  —  and  after  three  years  of  hard  and 
satisfactory  work  at  the  quarries  and  in  the  sheds,  by 
living  frugally  and  saving  thriftily  he  was  able  to  open 
the  first  Italian  fruit  stall  in  the  quarry  town.  The 
business  was  flourishing  and  already  threatened  to 
overrun  its  quarters.  Luigi  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
come  fruit  capitalist ;  his  first  presidential  vote  had  been 
cast,  and  he  felt  prepared  to  enjoy  to  the  full  his  new 
Americanhood. 

But  with  his  young  manhood  and  the  fulfilment  of  its 
young  aspirations,  came  other  desires,  other  incentives 
for  making  his  business  a  success  and  himself  a 
respected  and  honored  citizen  of  these  United  States. 
Luigi  Poggi  was  ready  to  give  into  Aileen's  keeping 
—  whenever  she  might  choose  to  indicate  by  a  word 
or  look  that  she  was  willing  to  accept  the  gift  — 
his  warm  Italian  heart  that  knew  no  subterfuge  in 
love,  but  gave  generously,  joyfully,  in  the  knowledge 
that  there  would  be  ever  more  and  more  to  bestow. 
He  had  not  as  yet  spoken,  save  with  his  dark  eyes,  his 
loving  earnestness  of  voice,  and  the  readiness  with 
which,  ever  since  his  appearance  in  Flamsted  he  ran 
and  fetched  and  carried  for  her. 

Aileen  enjoyed  this  devotion.  The  legitimate  pleas 
ure  of  knowing  she  is  loved  —  even  when  no  response 
can  be  given  —  is  a  girl's  normal  emotional  nourish 
ment.  Through  it  the  narrows  in  her  nature  widen 
and  the  shallows  deepen  to  the  dimensions  that  enable 
the  woman's  heart  to  give,  at  last,  even  as  she  has  re 
ceived,  —  ay,  even  more  than  she  can  ever  hope  to 
receive.  This  novitiate  was  now  Aileen's. 

As    a   foil,    against    which    Luigi's    silent    devotion 


192  Flamsted  Quarries 

showed  to  the  best  advantage,  Romanzo  Caukins' 
dogged  persistence  in  telling  her  on  an  average  of  once 
in  two  months  that  he  loved  her  and  was  waiting  for 
a  satisfactory  answer,  served  its  end.  For  six  years, 
while  Romanzo  remained  at  Champ-au-Haut,  the  girl 
teased,  cajoled,  tormented,  amused,  and  worried  the 
Colonel's  eldest.  Of  late,  since  his  twenty-first  birth 
day,  he  had  turned  the  tables  on  her,  and  was  teasing 
and  worrying  her  with  his  love-blind  persistence.  That 
she  had  given  him  a  decided  answer  more  than  once 
made  no  impression  on  his  determined  spirit.  In  her 
despair  Aileen  went  to  Octavius;  but  he  gave  her  cold 
comfort. 

"  What'd  I  tell  you  two  years  ago,  Aileen?  Did  n't 
I  say  you  could  n't  play  with  even  a  slow-mate  h  like 
Roman,  if  you  did  n't  want  a  fire  later  on  ?  And  you 
would  n't  hear  a  word  to  me." 

"  But  I  did  n't  know,  Tave  !  How  could  I  think  that 
just  because  a  boy  tags  round  after  you  from  morning 
till  night  for  the  sake  of  being  amused,  that  when  he 
gets  to  be  twenty-one  he  is  going  to  keep  on  tagging 
round  after  you  for  the  rest  of  his  days?  I  never  saw 
such  a  leech !  He  simply  won't  accept  the  fact  once 
for  all  that  I  won't  have  him;  but  he's  got  to  —  so 
now!" 

Octavius  smiled  at  the  sudden  little  flurry;  he  was 
used  to  them. 

"I  take  it  Roman  does  n't  think  you  know  your  own 
mind." 

"He  does  n't !  Well,  he'll  find  out  I  do,  then.  Oh, 
dear,  why  could  n't  he  just  go  on  being  Romanzo 
Caukins  with  no  nonsense  about  him,  and  not  make 
such  a  goose  of  himself!  Anyway,  I'm  thankful  he's 
gone;  it  got  so  I  could  n't  so  much  as  tell  him  to  harness 


Flamsted  Quarries  193 

up  for  Mrs.  Champney,  that  he  did  n't  consider  it  a 
sign  of  'yielding'  on  my  part!"  She  laughed  out. 
"  Oh,  Tavy  dear,  what  should  I  do  without  you !  — 
Now  if  I  could  make  an  impression  on  you,  it  might  be 
worth  while,"  she  added  mischievously. 

Octavius  would  have  failed  to  be  the  man  he  was 
had  he  not  felt  flattered ;  he  smiled  on  her  indulgently. 
"Well,  I  should  n't  tag  round  after  you  much  if  I  was 
thirty  year  younger;  't  ain't  my  way.  But  there's  one 
thing,  Aileen,  I  want  to  say  to  you,  and  if  you've  got 
any  common  sense  you'll  heed  me  this  time:  I  want 
you  to  be  mighty  careful  how  you  manage  with  Luigi. 
You've  got  no  slow-match  to  play  with  this  time,  let 
me  tell  you;  you've  got  a  regular  sleeping  volcano  like 
some  of  them  he  was  born  near;  and  it  won't  do,  I 
warn  you.  He  ain't  Romanzo  Caukins  —  Roman's  home 
made;  but  t'other  is  a  foreigner;  they're  different." 

"Oh,  don't  preach,  Octavius."  She  always  called 
him  by  his  unabbreviated  name  when  she  was  irri 
tated.  "I  like  well  enough  to  sing  with  Luigi,  and  go 
rowing  with  him,  and  play  tennis,  and  have  the  good 
times,  but  it's  nonsense  for  you  to  think  he  means  any 
thing  serious.  Why,  he  never  spoke  a  word  of  love  to 
me  in  his  life  !" 

"Humph  !  —  that  silent  kind's  the  worst;  you  don't 
give  him  a  chance." 

"And  I  don't  mean  to  —  does  that  satisfy  you?" 
she  demanded.    "  If  it  does  n't,  I  '11  tell  you  something  — 
but  it's  a  secret;  you  won't  tell?" 

"Not  if  you  don't  want  me  to;  I  ain't  that  kind." 

"I  know  you're  not,  Tave;  that's  why  I'm  going  to 
tell  you.  Here,  let  me  whisper  —  " ;  she  bent  to  his  ear ; 
he  was  seated  on  a  stool  in  the  coach  house  mending  a 
strap;  "  — I've  waited  all  this  time  for  that  prince  to 


194  Flamsted  Quarries 

come,  and  do  you  suppose  for  one  moment  I'd  look  at 
any  one  else?" 

"Now  that  ain't  fair  to  fool  me  like  that,  Aileen !" 

Octavius  was  really  vexed,  but  he  spoke  the  last 
words  to  empty  air,  for  the  girl  caught  up  her  skirt  and 
ran  like  a  deer  up  the  lane.  He  could  hear  her  laughing 
at  his  discomfiture;  the  sound  grew  fainter  and  fainter; 
when  it  ceased  he  resumed  his  work,  from  time  to  time 
shaking  his  head  ominously  and  talking  to  himself  as  a 
vent  for  his  outraged  feelings. 

But  Aileen  spoke  the  truth.  Her  vivid  imagination, 
a  factor  in  the  true  Celtic  temperament,  provided  her 
with  another  life,  apart  from  the  busy  practical  one 
which  Mrs.  Champney  laid  out  for  her.  All  her  childish 
delights  of  day-dreaming  and  joyous  romancing,  fos 
tered  by  that  first  novel  which  Luigi  Poggi  thrust 
through  the  knothole  in  the  orphan  asylum  fence,  was 
at  once  transferred  to  Alice  Van  Ostend  and  her  sur 
roundings  so  soon  as  the  two  children  established  their 
across-street  acquaintance.  Upon  her  arrival  in  Flam 
sted,  the  child's  adaptability  to  changed  circumstances 
and  new  environment  was  furthered  by  the  play  of  this 
imagination  that  fed  itself  on  what  others,  who  lack 
it,  might  call  the  commonplace  of  life:  the  house  at 
Champ-au-Haut  became  her  lordly  palace;  the  estate 
a  park;  she  herself  a  princess  guarded  only  too  well 
by  an  aged  duenna;  Octavius  Buzzby  and  Romanzo 
Caukins  she  looked  upon  as  life-servitors. 

Now  and  then  the  evidence  of  this  unreal  life,  which 
she  was  leading,  was  made  apparent  to  Octavius  and 
Romanzo  by  some  stilted  mode  of  speech.  At  such 
times  they  humored  her;  it  provided  amusement  of 
the  richest  sort.  She  also  continued  to  invent  "novels" 
for  Romanzo's  benefit,  and  many  a  half-hour  the  two 


Flamsted  Quarries  195 

spent  in  the  carriage  house  —  Aileen  aglow  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  narration,  and  Romanzo  intent  upon 
listening,  charmed  both  with  the  tale  and  the  nar 
rator.  In  these  invented  novels,  there  was  always  a 
faithful  prince  returning  after  long  years  of  wander 
ing  to  the  faithful  princess.  This  was  her  one  theme 
with  variations. 

Sometimes  she  danced  a  minuet  on  the  floor  of  the 
stable,  with  this  prince  as  imaginary  partner,  and 
Romanzo  grew  jealous  of  the  bewitching  smiles  and 
coquetries  she  bestowed  upon  the  vacant  air.  At 
others  she  would  induce  the  youth  to  enter  a  box  stall, 
telling  him  to  make  believe  he  was  at  the  theatre,  and 
then,  forgetting  her  role  of  princess,  she  was  again  the 
Aileen  Armagh  of  old  —  the  child  on  the  vaudeville 
stage,  dancing  the  coon  dance  with  such  vigor  and 
abandonment  that  once,  when  Aileen  was  nearly  six 
teen,  Octavius,  being  witness  to  this  flaunting  per 
formance,  took  her  severely  to  task  for  such  untoward 
actions  now  that  she  was  grown  up.  He  told  her 
frankly  that  if  Romanzo  Caukins  was  led  astray  in  the 
future  it  would  be  through  her  carryings-on;  at  which 
Aileen  looked  so  dumbfoundered  that  Octavius  at 
once  perceived  his  mistake,  and  retreated  weakly  from 
his  position  by  telling  her  if  she  wanted  to  dance  like 
that,  she'd  better  dance  before  him  who  understood 
her  and  her  intentions. 

At  this  second  speech  Aileen  stared  harder  than  ever ; 
then  going  up  to  him  and  throwing  an  arm  around  his 
neck,  she  whispered : 

"Tave,  dear,  are  you  mad  with  me?  What  have  I 
done?  —  Is  it  really  anything  so  awful?" 

Her  distress  was  so  unfeigned  that  Octavius,  not 
being  a  woman,  comforted  her  by  telling  her  he  was  a 


196  Flamsted  Quarries 

great  botcher.  Inwardly  he  cursed  himself  for  an  A 
No.  i  fool.  Aileen  never  danced  the  "coon"  again, 
but  thereafter  gave  herself  such  grown-up  and  stand-off 
airs  in  Romanzo's  presence,  that  the  youth  proceeded 
in  all  earnest  to  lose  both  head  and  heart  to  the  girl's 
gracious  blossoming  womanhood.  Octavius,  observing 
this,  groaned  in  spirit,  and  henceforth  held  his  tongue 
when  he  heard  the  girl  carolling  her  Irish  love  songs  in 
the  presence  of  the  ingenuous  Caukins. 

After  this,  the  girl's  exuberance  of  spirits  and  the 
sustaining  inner  life  of  the  imagination  helped  her 
wonderfully  during  the  three  following  years  of  patient 
waiting  on  a  confirmed  invalid.  Of  late,  Mrs.  Champ- 
ney  had  come  to  depend  more  and  more  on  the  girl's 
strong  youth;  to  demand  more  and  more  from  her 
abundant  vitality  and  lively  spirits;  and  Aileen, 
although  recognizing  the  anomalous  position  she  held 
in  the  Champ-au-Haut  household  —  neither  servant 
nor  child,  .neither  companion  nor  friend  —  gave  of 
herself;  gave  as  her  Irish  inheritance  prompted  her  to 
give:  ungrudgingly,  faithfully,  without  reward  save 
the  knowledge  of  a  duty  performed  towards  the  woman 
who,  in  taking  her  into  her  household  and  maintain 
ing  her  there,  had  placed  her  in  a  position  to  make 
friends  —  such  friends ! 

When  the  soil  is  turned  over  carefully,  enriched  and 
prepared  perfectly  for  the  seed;  when  rain  is  abun 
dant,  sunshine  plenteous  and  mother-earth's  spring 
quickening  is  instinctive,  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that 
the  rootlet  delves,  the  plantlet  lifts  itself,  the  bud  forms 
quickly,  and  unexpectedly  spreads  its  petal-star  to  the 
sunlight  which  enhances  its  beauty  and  fructifies  its 
work  of  reproduction?  The  natural  laws,  in  this  case, 


Flamsted  Quarries  197 

work  to  their  prescribed  end  along  lines  of  favoring 
circumstance  —  and  Love  is  but  the  working  out  of 
the  greatest  of  all  Nature's  laws.  When  conditions  are 
adverse,  there  is  only  too  often  struggle,  strife,  wretch 
edness.  The  result  is  a  dwarfing  of  the  product,  a 
lowering  of  the  vital  power,  a  recession  from  the  type. 
But,  on  the  contrary,  when  all  conditions  combine 
to  further  the  working  of  this  law,  we  have  the  rapid 
and  perfect  flowering,  followed  by  the  beneficent  matu 
rity  of  fruit  and  seed.  Thus  Life,  the  ever-new,  becomes 
immortal. 

Small  wonder  that  Aileen  Armagh,  trying  to  explain 
that  queer  feeling  of  timidity,  should  suddenly  press 
her  hand  hard  over  her  heart !  It  was  throbbing  almost 
to  the  point  of  suffocating  her,  so  possessed  was  it  by 
the  joy  of  a  sudden  and  wonderful  presence  of  love. 

The  knowledge  brought  with  it  a  sense  of  bewilder 
ing  unreality.  She  knew  now  that  her  day  dreams  had 
a  substantial  basis.  She  knew  now  that  she  had  not 
meant  what  she  said. 

For  years,  ever  since  the  night  of  the  serenade,  her 
vivid  imagination  had  been  dwelling  on  Champney 
Googe's  home-coming;  for  years  he  was  the  central 
figure  in  her  day  dreams,  and  every  dream  was  made 
half  a  reality  to  her  by  means  of  the  praises  in  his  be 
half  which  she  heard  sounded  by  each  man,  woman, 
and  child  in  the  ever-increasing  circle  of  her  friends. 
It  was  always  with  old  Joel  Quimber:  "When  Champ 
gits  back,  we'll  hev  what  ye  might  call  the  head  of  a 
fam'lv  agin."  Octavius  Buzzby  spent  hours  in  telling 
her  of  the  boy's  comings  and  goings  and  doings  at 
Champ-au-Haut,  and  the  love  Louis  Champney  bore 
him.  Romanzo  Caukins  set  him  on  the  pedestal  of 
his  bovish  enthusiasm.  The  Colonel  himself  was  not 


198  Flamsted  Quarries 

less  enthusiastic  than  his  first  born;  he  never  failed  to 
assure  Aileen  when  she  was  a  guest  in  his  house  —  an 
event  that  became  a  weekly  matter  as  she  grew  older  — 
that  her  lot  had  fallen  in  pleasant  places;  that  to  his 
friend,  Mrs.  Googe,  and  her  son,  Champney,  she  was 
indebted  for  the  new  industrial  life  which  brought  with 
it  such  advantages  to  one  and  all  in  Flamsted. 

To  Aurora  Googe,  the  mother  of  her  imaginative 
ideal,  Aileen,  attracted  from  the  first  by  her  beauty  and 
motherly  kindness  towards  an  orphan  waif,  gave  a 
child's  demonstrative  love,  afterwards  a  girl's  adora 
tion.  In  all  this  devotion  she  was  abetted  by  Elvira 
Caukins  to  whom  Aurora  Googe  had  always  been  an 
ideal  of  womanhood.  Moreover,  Aileen  came  to  know 
during  these  years  of  Champney  Googe's  absence  that 
his  mother  worshipped  in  reality  where  she  herself 
worshipped  in  imagination. 

Thus  the  ground  was  made  ready  for  the  seed. 
Small  wonder  that  the  flowering  of  love  in  this  warm 
Irish  heart  was  immediate,  when  Champney  Googe,  on 
the  second  day  after  his  home-coming,  questioned  her 
with  that  careless  challenge  in  his  eyes : 

"You  wouldn't?" 

The  sun  set  before  she  left  the  boat  house.  She  ran 
up  the  steps  to  the  terrace  and,  not  finding  Mrs.  Champ 
ney  there,  sought  her  in  the  house.  She  found  her  in 
the  library,  seated  in  her  easy  chair  which  she  had 
turned  to  face  the  portrait  of  her  husband,  over  the 
fireplace. 

"Why  didn't  you  call  me  to  help  you  in, 
Mrs.  Champney?  I  blame  myself  for  not  coming 
sooner." 

"I  reallv  feel  stronger  and  thought  I  mi^ht  as  well 


Flamsted  Quarries  199 

try  it ;  there  is  always  a  first  time  —  and  you  were  with 
Champney,  weren't  you?" 

"  I  ?  Why  no  —  what  made  you  think  that  ?  "  Mrs. 
Champney  noticed  the  slight  hesitation  before  the 
question  was  put  so  indifferently,  and  the  quick  red 
that  mounted  in  the  girl's  cheeks.  "Mr.  Googe  went 
off  half  an  hour  ago  with  Rag  tagging  on  behind." 

"Then  he  conquered  as  usual." 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  should  call  it  'conquering' 
or  not ;  Rag  did  n't  want  to  go,  that  was  plain  enough 
to  see." 

"What  made  him  go  then?" 

Aileen  laughed  out.  "That's  just  what  I'd  like  to 
know  myself." 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"Who?  — Rag  or  Mr.  Googe?" 

She  was  always  herself  with  Mrs.  Champney,  and 
her  daring  spirit  of  mischief  rarely  gave  offence  to  the 
mistress  of  Champ-au-Haut.  But  by  the  tone  of  voice 
in  which  she  answered,  Aileen  knew  that,  without  in 
tention,  she  had  irritated  her. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  whom  I  mean  —  my 
nephew,  Mr.  Googe." 

Aileen  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Her  young  secret 
was  her  own  to  guard  from  all  eyes,  and  especially 
from  all  unfriendly  ones.  She  was  standing  on  the 
hearth,  in  front  of  Mrs.  Champney.  Turning  her  head 
slightly  she  looked  up  at  the  portrait  of  the  man  above 
her  —  looked  upon  almost  the  very  lineaments  of  him 
whom  at  that  very  moment  her  young  heart  was  ador 
ing:  the  fine  features,  the  blue  eyes,  the  level  brows, 
the  firm  curving  lips,  the  abundant  brown  hair.  It 
was  as  if  Champney  Googe  himself  were  smiling  down 
upon  her.  As  she  continued  to  look,  the  lovely  light 


200  Flamsted  Quarries 

in  the  girl's  face  —  a  light  reflected  from  no  sunset 
fires  over  the  Flamsted  Hills,  but  from  the  sunrise  of 
girlhood's  first  love  —  betrayed  her  to  the  faded  watch 
ful  eyes  beside  her. 

"He  looks  just  like  your  husband;"  she  spoke 
slowly;  her  voice  seemed  to  linger  on  the  last  word; 
"when  Tave  saw  him  he  said  he  thought  it  was  Mr. 
Champney  come  to  life,  and  I  think  — 

Mrs.  Champney  interrupted  her.  "Octavius  Buzzby 
is  a  fool."  Sudden  anger  hardened  her  voice;  a  slight 
flush  came  into  her  wasted  cheeks.  "Tell  Hannah  I 
want  my  supper  now,  let  Ann  bring  it  in  here  to  me. 
I  don't  need  you;  I'm  tired." 

Aileen  turned  without  another  word  —  she  knew  too 
well  that  tone  of  voice  and  what  it  portended;  she  was 
thankful  to  hear  it  rarely  now  —  and  left  the  room  to 
do  as  she  was  bidden. 

"Little  fool!"  Almeda  Champney  muttered  between 
set  teeth  when  the  door  closed  upon  the  girl.  She  placed 
both  hands  on  the  arms  of  her  chair  to  raise  herself; 
walked  feebly  to  the  hearth  where  a  moment  before 
Aileen  had  stood,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  the  smiling 
ones  looking  down  into  hers,  confessed  her  woman's 
weakness  in  bitter  words  that  mingled  with  a  half -sob : 

"  And  I,  too,  was  a  fool  —  all  women  are  with  such 
as  you." 


V 

A  THOUGH  Mrs.  Champney  remained  the  only 
one  who  read  Aileen  Armagh's  secret,  yet 
even  she  asked  herself  as  the  summer  sped  if 
she  read  aright. 

During  the  three  weeks  in  which  her  nephew  was 
making  himself  familiar  with  all  the  inner  and  outer 
workings  of  the  business  at  The  Gore  and  in  the  sheds, 
she  came  to  anticipate  his  daily  coming  to  Champ-au- 
Haut,  for  he  brought  with  him  the  ozone  of  success. 
His  laugh  w^as  so  unaffectedly  hearty;  his  interest  in 
the  future  of  Flamsted  and  of  himself  as  a  factor  in 
its  prosperity  so  unfeigned ;  his  enjoyment  of  his  own 
importance  so  infectious,  his  account  of  the  people  and 
things  he  had  seen  during  his  absence  from  home  so 
entertaining  that,  in  his  presence,  his  aunt  breathed  a 
new  atmosphere,  the  life-giving  qualities  of  which  were 
felt  as  beneficial  to  every  member  of  the  household  at 
The  Bow7. 

Mrs.  Champney  took  note  that  he  never  asked  for 
Aileen.  If  the  girl  were  there  when  he  ran  in  for  after 
noon  tea  on  the  terrace  or  an  hour's  chat  in  the  evening, 
—  sometimes  it  happened  that  the  day  saw  him  three 
times  at  Champ-au-Haut  —  her  presence  to  all  ap 
pearance  afforded  him  only  an  opportunity  to  tease  her 
goodnaturedly ;  he  delighted  in  her  repartee.  Mrs. 
Champney,  keenly  observant,  failed  to  detect  in  the 
girl's  frank  joyousness  the  least  self-consciousness; 
she  was  just  her  own  merry  self  with  him,  and  the 


2O2  Flamsted  Quarries 

"give  and  take"  between  them  afforded  Mrs.  Champ- 
ney  a  fund  of  amusement. 

On  the  evening  of  his  departure  for  New  York,  she 
was  witness  to  their  merry  leave-taking.  Afterwards 
she  summoned  Octavius  to  the  library. 

"You  may  bring  all  the  mail  for  the  house  hereafter 
to  me,  Octavius;  now  that  I  am  feeling  so  much 
stronger,  I  shall  gradually  resume  my  customary  duties 
in  the  household.  You  need  not  give  any  of  the  mail  to 
Aileen  to  distribute  —  I'll  do  it  after  to-night." 

"What  the  devil  is  she  up  to  now!"  Octavius  said 
to  himself  as  he  left  the  room. 

But  no  letter  from  New  York  came  for  Aileen.  Mrs. 
Champney  tried  another  tack:  the  next  time  her 
nephew  came  to  Flamsted,  later  on  in  the  autumn,  she 
asked  him  to  write  her  in  detail  concerning  his  inti 
macy  with  her  cousins,  the  Van  Ostends,  and  of  their 
courtesies  to  him.  Champney,  nothing  loath  —  always 
keeping  in  mind  the  fact  that  it  was  well  to  keep  on  the 
right  side  of  Aunt  Meda  —  wrote  her  all  she  desired 
to  know.  What  he  wrote  was  retailed  faithfully  to 
Aileen;  but  the  frequent  dinners  at  the  Van  Ostends', 
and  the  prospective  coming-out  reception  and  ball  to 
be  given  for  Alice  and  scheduled  for  the  late  winter, 
called  forth  from  the  eagerly  listening  girl  only  ejacula 
tions  of  delight  and  pleasant  reminiscence  of  the  first 
time  she  had  seen  the  little  girl  dressed  for  a  party.  If, 
inwardly  she  asked  herself  the  question  why  Alice  Van 
Ostend  had  dropped  all  her  childish  interest  in  her 
whom  she  had  been  the  means  of  sending  to  Flamsted, 
why  she  no  longer  inquired  for  her,  her  common  sense 
was  apt  to  answer  the  question  satisfactorily.  Aileen 
Armagh  was  keen-eyed  and  quick-witted,  possessing, 
without  actual  experience  in  the  so-called  other  world 


Flamsted  Quarries  203 

of  society,  a  wonderful  intuition  as  to  the  relative  value 
of  people  and  circumstances  in  this  ordinary  world 
which  already,  during  her  short  life,  had  presented 
various  interesting  phases  for  her  inspection;  con 
sequently  she  recognized  the  abyss  of  circumstance 
between  her  and  the  heiress  of  Henry  Van  Ostend. 
But,  with  an  intensity  proportioned  to  her  open- 
minded  recognition  of  the  first  material  differences, 
her  innate  womanliness  and  pride  refused  to  acknowl 
edge  any  abyss  as  to  their  respective  personalities. 
Hence  she  kept  silence  in  regard  to  certain  things; 
laughed  and  made  merry  over  the  letters  filled  with 
the  Van  Ostends'  doings  —  and  held  on  her  own  way, 
sure  of  her  own  status  with  herself. 

Aileen  kept  her  secret,  and  all  the  more  closely 
because  she  was  realizing  that  Champney  Googe  was 
far  from  indifferent  to  her.  At  first,  the  knowledge 
of  the  miracle  of  love,  that  was  wrought  so  suddenly  as 
she  thought,  sufficed  to  fill  her  heart  with  continual 
joy.  But,  shortly,  that  was  modified  by  the  awakening 
longing  that  Champney  should  return  her  love.  She 
felt  she  charmed  him;  she  knew  that  he  timed  his 
coming  and  going  that  he  might  encounter  her  in  the 
house  or  about  the  grounds,  whenever  and  wherever 
he  could  —  sometimes  alone  in  her  boat  on  the  long 
arm  of  the  lake,  that  makes  up  to  the  west  and  is 
known  as  "lily -pad  reach";  and  afterwards,  during 
the  autumn,  in  the  quarry  woods  above  The  Gore 
where  with  her  satellites,  Dulcie  and  Doosie  Caukins, 
she  went  to  pick  checkerberries. 

Mrs.  Champney  was  baffled;  she  determined  to 
await  developments,  taking  refuge  from  her  defeat  in 
the  old  saying  "Love  and  a  cough  can't  be  hidden." 
Still,  she  could  but  wonder  when  four  months  of  the 


204  Flamsted  Quarries 

late  spring  and  early  summer  passed,  and  Champney 
made  no  further  appearance  in  Flamsted.  This  hiatus 
was  noticeable,  and  she  would  have  found  it  inexpli 
cable,  had  not  Mr.  Van  Ostend  written  her  a  letter 
which  satisfied  her  in  regard  to  many  things  of  which 
she  had  previously  been  in  doubt;  it  decided  her  once 
for  all  to  speak  to  Aileen  and  warn  her  against  any 
passing  infatuation  for  her  nephew.  For  this  she  de 
termined  to  bide  her  time,  especially  as  Champney's 
unusual  length  of  absence  from  Flamsted  seemed  to 
have  no  effect  on  the  girl's  joyous  spirits.  In  July, 
however,  she  had  again  an  opportunity  to  see  the  two 
together  at  Champ-au-Haut.  Champney  was  in  Flam 
sted  on  business  for  two  days  only,  and  so  far  as  she 
knew  there  was  no  opportunity  for  Aileen  to  see  her 
nephew  more  than  once  and  in  her  presence.  She 
managed  matters  in  such  a  way  that  Aileen's  services 
were  in  continual  demand  during  Champney's  two 
days'  stay  in  his  native  town. 

But  after  that  visit  in  July,  the  singing  voice  was 
heard  ringing  joyfully  at  all  times  of  the  day  in  the 
house  and  about  the  grounds  of  The  Bow.  Sometimes 
the  breeze  brought  it  to  Octavius  from  across  the  lake 
waters  —  Luigi's  was  no  longer  with  it  —  and  he 
pitied  the  girl  sincerely  because  the  desire  of  her  heart, 
the  cultivation  of  such  a  voice,  was  denied  her.  Mrs. 
Champney,  also,  heard  the  clear  voice,  which,  in  this 
the  girl's  twentieth  year,  was  increasing  in  volume  and 
sweetness,  carolling  the  many  songs  in  Irish,  Eng 
lish,  French  and  Italian.  She  marvelled  at  the  light- 
heartedness  and,  at  the  same  time,  wondered  if,  now 
that  Romanzo  Caukins  could  no  longer  hope,  Aileen 
would  show  enough  common  sense  to  accept  Luigi 
Poggi  in  due  time,  and  through  him  make  for  herself 


Flamsted  Quarries  205 

an  established  place  in  Flamsted.  Not  that  she  was 
yet  ready  to  part  with  her  —  far  from  it.  She  was  too 
useful  a  member  of  the  Champ-au-Haut  household. 
Still,  if  it  were  to  be  Poggi  in  the  end,  she  felt  she  could 
control  matters  to  the  benefit  of  all  concerned,  herself 
primarily.  She  was  pleasing  herself  with  the  idea  of 
such  prospective  control  of  Aileen's  matrimonial  in 
terests  one  afternoon,  just  after  Champney's  flying 
visit  in  July,  when  she  rose  from  her  chair  beneath 
the  awning  and,  to  try  her  strength,  made  her  way 
slowly  along  the  terrace  to  the  library  windows;  they 
were  French  casements  and  one  of  them  had  swung 
outwards  noiselessly  in  the  breeze.  She  was  about  to 
step  through,  when  she  saw  Aileen  standing  on  the 
hearth  before  the  portrait  of  Louis  Champney.  She 
was  gazing  up  at  it,  her  face  illumined  by  the  same 
lovely  light  that,  a  year  before,  had  betrayed  her 
secret  to  the  faded  but  observant  eyes  of  Louis 
Champney's  widow. 

This  was  enough;  the  mistress  of  Champ-au-Haut 
was  again  on  her  guard  —  and  well  she  might  be,  for 
Aileen  Armagh  was  in  possession  of  the  knowledge 
that  Champney  Googe  loved  her.  In  joyful  anticipa 
tion  she  was  waiting  for  the  word  which,  spoken  by 
him  when  he  should  be  again  in  Flamsted,  was  to  make 
her  future  both  fair  and  blest. 


VI 

IN  entering  on  his  business  life  in  New  York, 
Champney  Googe,  like  many  another  man, 
failed  to  take  into  account  the  "  minus  quanti 
ties"  in  his  personal  equation.  These  he  possessed  in 
common  with  other  men  because  he,  too,  was  human: 
passions  in  common,  ambitions  in  common,  weak 
nesses  in  common,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  pur 
suance  of  a  common  end  —  the  accumulation  of 
riches. 

The  sum  of  these  minus  quantities  added  to  the  total 
of  temperamental  characteristics  and  inherited  traits 
left,  unfortunately,  in  balancing  the  personal  equation 
a  minus  quantity.  Not  that  he  had  any  realization  of 
such  a  result  —  what  man  has  ?  On  the  contrary,  he 
firmly  believed  that  his  inherited  obstinate  persever 
ance,  his  buoyant  temperament,  his  fortunate  business 
connection  with  the  great  financier,  his  position  as  the 
meeting-point  of  the  hitherto  divided  family  interests 
in  Flamsted,  his  intimacy  writh  the  Van  Ostends  — 
the  distant  tie  of  blood  confirming  this  at  all  points  — 
plus  his  college  education  and  cosmopolitan  business 
training  in  the  financial  capitals  of  Europe,  were 
potent  factors  in  finding  the  value  of  x  —  this  repre 
senting  to  him  an,  as  yet,  unknown  quantity  of  accu 
mulated  wealth. 

He  had  not  yet  asked  himself  how  large  a  sum  he 
wished  to  amass,  but  he  said  to  himself  almost  daily, 
"I  have  shown  my  power  along  certain  lines  to-day," 


Flamsted  Quarries  207 

these  lines  converging  in  his  consciousness  always  to 
monetary  increment. 

He  worked  with  a  will.  His  energy  was  tireless. 
He  learned  constantly  and  much  from  other  men 
powerful  in  the  world  of  affairs  —  of  their  methods  of 
speculation,  some  legitimate,  others  quite  the  contrary; 
of  their  manipulation  of  stocks,  weak  and  strong;  of 
their  strengthening  the  market  when  the  strengthen 
ing  was  necessary  to  fill  a  threatened  deficit  in  their 
treasury  and  of  their  weakening  a  line  of  investment 
to  prevent  over-loading  and  consequent  depletion  of 
the  same.  He  was  thoroughly  interested  in  all  he 
heard  and  saw  of  the  development  of  mines  and  in 
dustries  for  the  benefit  of  certain  banking  cliques  and 
land  syndicates.  If  now  and  then  a  mine  proved  to 
have  no  bottom  and  the  small  investor's  insignificant 
sums  dropped  out  of  sight  in  this  bottomless  pit,  that 
did  not  concern  him  —  it  was  all  in  the  game,  and  the 
game  was  an  enticing  one  to  be  played  to  the  end. 
The  two  facts  that  nothing  is  certain  at  all  times,  and 
that  everything  is  uncertain  at  some  time,  added  the 
excitement  of  chance  to  his  business  interest. 

At  times,  for  instance  when  walking  up  the  Avenue 
on  a  bracing  October  day,  he  felt  as  if  he  owned  all  in 
sight  —  a  condition  of  mind  which  those  who  know 
from  experience  the  powerful  electro-magnetic  current 
generated  by  the  rushing  life  of  the  New  York  metrop 
olis  can  well  understand.  He  struck  out  into  the  stream 
writh  the  rest,  and  with  overweening  confidence  in 
himself  —  in  himself  as  master  of  circumstances 
which  he  intended  to  control  in  his  own  interests,  in 
himself  as  the  pivotal  point  of  Flamsted  affairs.  The 
rapidity  of  the  current  acted  as  a  continual  stimulus 
to  exertion.  Like  all  bold  swimmers,  he  knew  in  a 


208  Flamsted  Quarries 

general  way  that  the  channel  might  prove  tortuous, 
the  current  threaten  at  times  to  overpower  him;  but, 
carried  rapidly  out  into  mid-stream  with  that  gigantic 
propulsive  force  that  is  the  resultant  of  the  diverse 
onward-pressure  of  the  metropolitan  millions,  he  sud 
denly  found  himself  one  day  in  that  mid-stream  with 
out  its  ever  having  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  not 
be  able  to  breast  it.  Even  had  he  thought  enough 
about  the  matter  to  admit  that  certain  untoward  con 
ditions  might  have  to  be  met,  he  would  have  failed 
to  realize  that  the  shore  towards  which* he  was  strug 
gling  might  prove  in  the  end  a  quicksand. 

Another  thing:  he  failed  to  take  into  account  the 
influence  of  any  cross  current,  until  he  was  made  to 
realize  the  necessity  of  stemming  his  strength  against 
it.  This  influence  was  Aileen  Armagh. 

Whenever  in  walking  up  lower  Broadway  from  the 
office  he  found  himself  passing  Grace  Church,  he 
realized  that,  despite  every  effort  of  will,  he  was  obliged 
to  relive  in  thought  the  experience  of  that  night  seven 
years  ago  at  the  Vaudeville.  Then  for  the  first  time 
he  saw  the  little  match  girl  crouching  on  the  steps  of 
the  stage  reproduction  of  this  same  marble  church. 
The  child's  singing  of  her  last  song  had  induced  in 
him  then  —  wholly  unawares,  wholly  unaccountably  — 
a  sudden  mental  nausea  and  a  physical  disgust  at  the 
course  of  his  young  life,  the  result  being  that  the  woman 
"who  lay  in  wait  for  him  at  the  corner"  by  appoint 
ment,  watched  that  night  in  vain  for  his  coming. 

In  reliving  this  experience,  there  was  always  present 
in  his  thought  the  Aileen  Armagh  as  he  knew  her  now 
—  pure,  loyal,  high-spirited,  helpful,  womanly  in  all 
her  household  ways,  entertaining  in  her  originality, 
endowed  with  the  gift  of  song.  She  was  charming; 


Flamsted  Quarries  209 

this  was  patent  to  all  who  knew  her.  It  was  a  pleasure 
to  dwell  on  this  thought  of  her,  and,  dwelling  upon  it 
too  often  at  off-times  in  his  business  life,  the  desire 
grew  irresistible  to  be  with  her  again;  to  chat  with 
her;  to  see  the  blue-gray  eyes  lifted  to  his;  to  find  in 
them  something  he  found  in  no  others.  At  such  times 
a  telegram  sped  over  the  wires  to  Aurora  Googe,  and 
her  heart  was  rejoiced  by  a  two  days'  visit  from  her  son. 

Champney  Googe  knew  perfectly  well  that  this  cross 
current  of  influence  was  diametrically  opposed  to  his 
own  course  of  life  as  he  had  marked  it  out  for  himself; 
knew  that  this  was  a  species  of  self-gratification  in 
which  he  had  no  business  to  indulge;  he  knew,  more 
over,  that  from  the  moment  he  should  make  an  earnest 
effort  to  win  Alice  Van  Ostend  and  her  accompanying 
millions,  this  self-gratification  must  cease.  He  told 
himself  this  over  and  over  again;  meanwhile  he  made 
excuse  —  a  talk  with  the  manager  of  the  quarries,  a 
new  order  of  weekly  payments  to  introduce  and  regu 
late  with  Romanzo  Caukins,  the  satisfactory  pay 
master  in  the  Flamsted  office,  a  week-end  with  his 
mother,  the  consideration  of  contracts  and  the  erection 
of  a  new  shed  on  the  lake  shore  —  to  visit  Flamsted 
several  times  during  the  autumn,  winter,  and  early 
spring. 

At  last,  however,  he  called  a  halt. 

Alice  Van  Ostend,  young,  immature,  amusing  in 
her  girlish  abandon  to  the  delight  of  at  last  "coming 
out "  ,  was,  nevertheless,  rapidly  growing  up,  a  condi 
tion  of  affairs  that  Champney  was  forced  rather  un 
willingly  to  admit  just  before  her  first  large  ball.  As 
usual  he  made  himself  useful  to  Alice,  who  looked  upon 
him  as  a  part  of  her  goods  and  chattels.  It  was  in  the 
selection  of  the  favors  for  the  german  to  be  given  in 


21  o  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  stone  house  on  the  occasion  of  the  coming-out 
reception  for  its  heiress,  that  his.  eyes  were  suddenly 
opened  to  the  value  of  time,  so  to  say;  for  Alice  was 
beginning  to  patronize  him.  By  this  sign  he  recog 
nized  that  she  was  putting  the  ten  years'  difference  in 
their  ages  at  something  like  a  generation.  It  was  not 
pleasing  to  contemplate,  because  the  winning  of  Alice 
Van  Ostend  was,  to  use  his  own  expression,  in  a  line 
coincident  with  his  own  life  lines.  Till  now  he  believed 
he  was  the  favored  one;  but  certain  signs  of  the  times 
began  to  be  provocative  of  distrust  in  this  direction. 

He  asked  boldly  for  the  first  dance,  for  the  cotillon, 
and  the  privilege  of  giving  her  the  flowers  she  was  to 
wear  that  night.  He  assumed  these  favors  to  be  within 
his  rights;  she  was  by  no  means  of  his  way  of  think 
ing.  It  developed  during  their  scrapping  —  Champney 
had  often  to  scrap  with  Alice  to  keep  on  a  level  with 
her  immaturity  —  that  there  was  another  rival  for  the 
cotillon,  another,  a  younger  man,  who  desired  to  give 
her  the  special  flowers  for  this  special  affair.  The 
final  division  of  the  young  lady's  favors  was  not  wholly 
reassuring  to  Mr.  Googe.  As  a  result  of  this  awaken 
ing,  he  decided  to  remain  in  New  York  without  farther 
visits  to  Flamsted  until  the  Van  Ostends  should  have 
left  the  city  for  the  summer. 

But  in  the  course  of  the  spring  and  summer  he  found 
it  one  thing  to  call  a  halt  and  quite  another  to  make 
one.  The  cross  current  of  influence,  which  had  its 
source  in  Flamsted,  was  proving,  against  his  will  and 
judgment,  too  strong  for  him.  He  knew  this  and  de 
plored  it,  for  it  threatened  to  carry  him  away  from  the 
shore  towards  which  he  was  pushing,  unawares  that 
this  apparently  firm  ground  of  attainment  might  prove 
treacherous  in  the  end. 


Flamsted  Quarries  2 1 1 

"Every  man  has  his  weakness,  and  she's  mine,"  he 
told  himself  more  than  once;  yet  in  making  this  state 
ment  he  was  half  aware  that  the  word  "weakness" 
was  in  no  sense  applicable  to  Aileen.  It  remained  for 
the  development  of  his  growing  passion  for  her  to 
show  him  that  he  was  wholly  in  the  wrong  —  she  was 
his  strength,  but  he  failed  to  realize  this. 

Champney  Googe  was  not  a  man  to  mince  matters 
with  himself.  He  told  himself  that  he  was  not  in 
fatuated;  infatuation  was  a  thing  to  which  he  had 
yielded  but  few  times  in  his  selfish  life.  He  was  ready 
to  acknowledge  that  his  interest  in  Aileen  Armagh  was 
something  deeper,  more  lasting;  something  that,  had 
he  been  willing  to  look  the  whole  matter  squarely  in 
the  face  instead  of  glancing  askance  at  its  profile,  he 
would  have  seen  to  be  perilously  like  real  love  —  that 
love  which  first  binds  through  passionate  attachment, 
then  holds  through  congenial  companionship  to  bless 
a  man's  life  to  its  close. 

"  She  suits  me  —  suits  me  to  a  T;  "  such  was  his  ad 
mission  in  what  he  called  his  weak  moments.  Then 
he  called  himself  a  fool;  he  cursed  himself  for  yield 
ing  to  the  influence  of  her  charming  personality  in  so 
far  as  to  encourage  what  he  perceived  to  be  on  her  part 
a  deep  and  absorbing  love  for  him.  In  yielding  to  his 
weakness,  he  knew  he  was  deviating  from  the  life  lines 
he  had  laid  with  such  forethought  for  his  following. 
A  rich  marriage  was  the  natural  corollary  of  his  deter 
mination  to  advance  his  own  interests  in  his  chosen 
career.  This  marriage  he  still  intended  to  make,  if 
possible  with  Alice  Van  Ostend ;  and  the  fact  that  young 
Ben  Falkenburg,  an  old  playmate  of  Alice's,  just 
graduated  from  college,  the  "other  man"  of  the  cotillon 
favors,  was  the  first  invited  guest  for  the  prospective 


212  Flamsted  Quarries 

cruise  on  Mr.  Van  Ostend's  yacht,  did  not  dovetail 
with  his  intentions.  It  angered  him  to  think  of  being 
thwarted  at  this  point. 

"Why  must  such  a  girl  cross  my  path  just  as  I  was 
getting  on  my  feet  with  Alice?"  he  asked  himself, 
manlike  illogically  impatient  with  Aileen  when  he 
should  have  lost  patience  with  himself.  But  in  the 
next  moment  he  found  himself  dwelling  in  thought 
on  the  lovely  light  in  the  eyes  raised  so  frankly  to  his, 
on  the  promises  of  loyalty  those  same  eyes  would  hold 
for  him  if  only  he  were  to  speak  the  one  word  which 
she  was  wraiting  to  hear  —  which  she  had  a  right  to 
hear  after  his  last  visit  in  July  to  Flamsted. 

If  he  had  not  kissed  her  that  once !  With  a  girl  like 
Aileen  there  could  be  no  trifling  —  what  then  ? 

He  cursed  himself  for  his  heedless  folly,  yet  —  he 
knew  well  enough  that  he  would  not  have  denied  him 
self  that  moment  of  bliss  when  the  girl  in  response  to 
his  whispered  words  of  love  gave  him  her  first  kiss, 
and  with  it  the  unspoken  pledge  of  her  loving  heart. 

"I'm  making  another  ass  of  myself!"  he  spoke 
aloud  and  continued  to  chew  the  end  of  a  cold  cigar. 

The  New  York  office  was  deserted  in  these  last  days 
of  August  except  for  two  clerks  who  had  just  left  to 
take  an  early  train  to  the  beach  for  a  breath  of  air. 
The  treasurer  of  the  Flamsted  Quarries  Company  was 
sitting  idle  at  his  desk.  It  was  an  off-time  in  business 
and  he  had  leisure  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  with 
out  doubt  the  quadruped  alluded  to  above  —  "An  ass 
that  this  time  is  in  danger  of  choosing  thistles  for  fodder 
when  he  can  get  something  better." 

Only  the  day  before  he  had  concluded  on  his  own 
account  a  deal,  that  cost  him  much  thought  and  re 
quired  an  extra  amount  of  a  certain  kind  of  courage, 


Flamsted  Quarries  213 

with  a  Wall  Street  firm.  Now  that  this  was  off  his 
hands  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  between  Friday 
and  Monday,  when  he  was  to  start  for  Bar  Harbor  to 
join  the  Van  Ostends  and  a  large  party  of  invited 
guests  for  a  three  weeks'  cruise  on  the  Labrador  coast, 
he  had  plenty  of  time  to  convince  himself  that  he  pos 
sessed  certain  asinine  qualities  which  did  not  redound 
to  his  credit  as  a  man  of  sense.  In  his  idle  moments 
the  thought  of  Aileen  had  a  curious  way  of  coming 
to  the  surface  of  consciousness.  It  came  now.  He 
whirled  suddenly  to  face  his  desk  squarely;  tossed 
aside  the  cold  cigar  in  disgust;  touched  the  electric 
button  to  summon  the  office  boy. 

"I'll  put  an  end  to  it  —  it's  got  to  be  done  sometime 
or  other  —  just  as  well  now."  He  wrote  a  note  to  the 
head  clerk  to  say  that  he  was  leaving  two  days  earlier 
for  his  vacation  than  he  intended;  left  his  address  for 
the  next  four  days  in  case  anything  should  turn  up  that 
might  demand  his  presence  before  starting  on  the 
cruise;  sent  the  office  boy  off  writh  a  telegram  to  his 
mother  that  she  might  expect  him  Saturday  morning 
for  two  days  in  Flamsted;  went  to  his  apartment, 
packed  grip  and  steamer  trunk  for  the  yacht,  and  left 
on  the  night  express  for  the  Maine  coast. 


VII 

"  IT  JUST  saw  Mr.  Googe  driving  down  from  The 
Gore,  Aileen,  so  he's  in  town  again." 

JL  Octavius  was  passing  the  open  library  window 
where  Aileen  was  sitting  at  her  work,  and  stopped  to 
tell  her  the  news. 

"Is  he?" 

The  tone  was  indifferent,  but  had  she  not  risen  quickly 
to  shake  some  threads  of  embroidery  linen  into  the 
scrap-basket  beneath  the  library  table,  Octavius  might 
have  seen  the  quick  blood  mount  into  her  cheeks,  the 
red  lips  quiver.  It  was  welcome  news  for  which  she 
had  been  waiting  already  six  weeks. 

Octavius  spoke  again  but  in  a  low  voice  : 

"You  might  mention  it  to  Mrs.  Champney  when  she 
comes  down;  it  don't  set  well,  you  know,  if  she  ain't 
told  everything  that's  going  on."  He  passed  on  with 
out  waiting  for  an  answer. 

The  girl  took  her  seat  again  by  the  window.  Her 
work  lay  in  her  lap;  her  hands  were  folded  above  it; 
her  face  was  turned  to  the  Flamsted  Hills.  "Would 
he  come  soon?  When  and  where  could  she  see  him 
again,  and  alone?"  Her  thoughts  were  busy  with 
conjecture. 

Octavius  recrossing  the  terrace  called  out  to  her: 

"You  going  up  to  Mrs.  Caukins'  later  on  this 
afternoon?" 

"Yes;  Mrs.  Champney  said  she  did  n't  need  me.:' 

"I'll  take  you  up." 


Flamsted  Quarries  2 1 5 

"Thank  you,  Tave,  not  to-day.  I'm  going  to  row 
up  as  far  as  the  upper  shed.  I  promised  the  twins  to 
meet  them  there;  they  want  to  see  the  new  travelling 
crane  at  work.  We'll  go  up  afterwards  to  The  Gore 
together." 

"It's  pretty  hot,  but  I  guess  you're  all  three  sea 
soned  by  this  time." 

"Through  and  through,  Tave;  and  I'm  not  coming 
home  till  after  supper  —  it's  lovely  then  —  there's 
Mrs.  Champney  coming!" 

She  heard  her  step  in  the  upper  hall  and  ran  up 
stairs  to  assist  her  in  coming  down. 

"Will  you  go  out  on  the  terrace  now?"  she  asked 
her  on  entering  the  library. 

"I'll  wait  a  while;  it's  too  warm  at  this  hour." 

Aileen  drew  Mrs.  Champney's  arm  chair  to  the 
other  casement  window.  She  resumed  her  seat  and 
work. 

"How  are  you  getting  on  with  the  napkins?"  the 
mistress  of  Champ-au-Haut  inquired  after  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  silence  in  which  she  was  busied  with  some 
letters. 

"Fine  —  see?"  She  held  up  a  corner  for  her  in 
spection.  "This  is  the  tenth;  I  shall  soon  be  ready 
for  the  big  table  cloth." 

"Bring  them  to  me." 

Aileen  obeyed,  and  showed  her  the  monogram, 
A  C,  wrought  by  her  own  deft  fingers  in  the  finest 
linen. 

"There's  no  one  like  a  Frenchwoman  to  teach  em 
broidery;  you've  done  them  credit."  Aileen  dropped 
a  mock  courtesy.  "Which  one  taught  you?" 

"Sister  Ste.  Croix." 

"Is  she  the  little  wrinkled  one?" 


216  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Yes,  but  I've  fallen  in  love  with  every  wrinkle, 
she's  a  perfect  dear  —  " 

"  I  did  n't  imply  she  was  n't."  Mrs.  Champney  was 
apt  to  snap  out  at  Aileen  when,  according  to  her  idea, 
she  was  "gushing"  too  much.  The  girl  had  ceased  to 
mind  this;  she  was  used  to  it,  especially  during  her 
three  years  of  attendance  on  this  invalid.  "Who  de 
signed  this  monogram?" 

"She  did;  she  can  draw  beautifully." 

Mrs.  Champney  put  on  her  glasses  to  examine  in 
detail  the  exquisite  lettering,  A  C. 

Aileen  leaned  above  her,  smiling  to  herself.  How 
many  loving  thoughts  were  wrought  into  those  same 
initials !  How  many  times,  while  her  fingers  were  busy 
fashioning  them,  she  had  planned  to  make  just  such 
for  her  very  own !  How  often,  as  she  wrought,  she  had 
laid  her  lips  to  the  A  C,  murmuring  to  herself  over 
and  over  again,  "Aileen  —  Champney,  Champney  — 
Aileen,"  so  filling  and  satisfying  with  the  sound  of  this 
pleasing  combination  her  every  loving  anticipation ! 

She  was  only  waiting  for  the  "word  ",  schooling  her 
self  in  these  last  six  weeks  to  wait  patiently  for  it  — 
the  "word"  which  should  make  these  special  letters  her 
legitimate  own ! 

The  singing  thoughts  that  ring  in  the  consciousness 
of  a  girl  who  gives  for  the  first  time  her  whole  heart  to 
her  lover;  the  chanted  prayers  to  her  Maker,  that  rise 
with  every  muted  throb  of  the  young  wife's  heart 
which  is  beating  for  two  in  anticipation  of  her  first 
motherhood  —  who  shall  dare  enumerate  them  ? 

The  varied  loving  thoughts  in  this  girl's  quick  brain, 
which  wras  fed  by  her  young  pulsing  heart  —  a  heart 
single  in  its  loyalty  to  one  during  all  the  years  since  her 
orphan  childhood,  were  intensified  and  illumined  by 


Flamsted  Quarries  217 

the  inherent  quickening  power  of  a  vivid  imagination, 
and  inwrought  with  these  two  letters  that  stood,  at 
present,  for  their  owner,  Almeda  Champney.  Aileen's 
smile  grew  wonderfully  tender,  almost  tremulous  as 
she  continued  to  lean  above  her  work.  Mrs.  Champney 
looking  up  suddenly  caught  it  and,  in  part,  interpreted 
it.  It  angered  her  both  unreasonably  and  unaccount 
ably.  This  girl  must  be  taught  her  place.  She  as 
piring  to  Champney  Googe !  She  handed  her  back 
the  work. 

"Ann  said  just  now  she  heard  Octavius  telling  you 
that  my  nephew,  Champney  Googe,  is  in  town  — 
when  did  he  come?" 

"I  don't  know  —  Tave  did  n't  say." 

"I  wonder  Alice  Van  Ostend  didn't  mention  that 
he  was  coming  here  before  going  on  the  yachting  cruise 
they've  planned.  I  had  a  letter  from  her  yesterday  — 
I  know  you'd  like  to  hear  it." 

"Of  course  I  should!  It's  the  first  one  she  has 
written  you,  is  n't  it  ?  —  Where  is  it  ?"  She  spoke  with 
her  usual  animated  interest. 

"I  have  it  here." 

She  took  up  one  of  several  letters  in  her  lap,  opened 
it,  turned  it  over,  adjusted  her  glasses  and  began  to 
read  a  paragraph  here  and  there.  Aileen  listened 
eagerly. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  read  it  all  —  Alice  would  n't 
mind  you,"  said  Mrs.  Champney,  and  proceeded  to 
give  the  full  contents.  It  was  filled  with  anticipations 
of  the  yachting  cruise,  of  a  later  visit  to  Flamsted,  of 
Champney  and  her  friends.  Champney's  name  oc 
curred  many  times,  —  Alice's  attitude  towards  the 
possessor  of  it  seemed  to  be  that  of  private  ownership, 
—  but  everything  was  written  with  the  frankness  of 


21 8  Flamsted  Quarries 

an  accepted  publicity  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Googe  was 
one  of  her  social  appendages.  Aileen  was  amused  at 
the  whole  tone  of  the  rather  lengthy  epistle;  it  gave 
her  no  uneasiness. 

Mrs.  Champney  laid  aside  her  glasses;  she  wanted 
to  note  the  effect  of  the  reading  on  the  girl. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself  from  this  how  matters 
stand  between  these  two ;  it  need  n't  be  spoken  of  in 
Flamsted  outside  the  family,  but  it's  just  as  well  for 
you  to  know  of  it  —  don't  you  think  so?" 

Aileen  parried ;  she  enjoyed  a  little  bout  with  Champ 
ney  Googe's  aunt. 

"Of  course,  it's  plain  enough  to  see  that  they're  the 
best  of  friends  —  " 

"Friends!"  Mrs.  Champney  interrupted  her;  there 
was  a  scornful  note  in  her  voice  which  insensibly 
sharpened;  "you  haven't  your  usual  common  sense, 
Aileen,  if  you  can't  read  between  these  lines  well 
enough  to  see  that  Miss  Van  Ostend  and  my  nephew 
are  as  good  as  engaged." 

Aileen  smiled,  but  made  no  reply. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  The  tone  was  per 
emptory  and  denoted  extreme  irritation.  Aileen  put 
down  her  work  and  looked  across  to  her  interrogator. 

"I  was  only  smiling  at  my  thoughts." 

"Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  state  what  they  are? 
They  may  prove  decidedly  interesting  to  me  —  at  this 
juncture,"  she  added  emphatically. 

Aileen's  look  of  amusement  changed  swiftly  to  one 
of  surprise. 

"To  be  honest,  I  was  thinking  that  what  she  writes 
about  Mr.  Googe  does  n't  sound  much  like  love,  that 
was  all  —  " 

"That  was  all!"    Mrs.  Champney  echoed  sarcasti- 


Flamsted  Quarries  219 

cally;  "well,  what  more  do  you  need  to  convince  you  of 
facts  I  should  like  to  know?" 

Aileen  laughed  outright  at  this.  "Oh,  Mrs.  Champ- 
ney,  what's  the  use  of  being  a  girl,  if  you  can't  know 
what  other  girls  mean?" 

"Please  explain  yourself." 

"Won't  you  please  read  that  part  again  where  she 
mentions  the  people  invited  for  the  cruise." 

Mrs.  Champney  found  the  paragraph  and  re-read  it 
aloud. 

"  Falkenburg  —  that's  the  name  —  Ben  Falkenburg." 

"How  did  you  ever  hear  of  this  Ben  Falkenburg?" 

"  Oh,  I  heard  of  him  years  ago  !"  The  mischief  was 
in  her  voice  and  Mrs.  Champney  recognized  it. 

"Where?" 

"When  I  was  in  New  York  —  in  the  asylum;  he's 
the  one  that  danced  the  minuet  with  the  Marchioness; 
I  told  you  about  it  years  ago." 

"How  do  you  know  he  was  the  boy?" 

"Because  Alice  told  me  his  name  then,  and  showed 
me  the  valentine  and  May-basket  he  sent  her  —  just 
read  the  postscript  again ;  if  you  want  to  crack  a  letter 
for  its  kernel,  you'll  generally  find  it  in  a  postscript, 
that  is  with  girls  of  Alice's  age." 

She  spoke  as  if  there  were  years  of  seniority  on  her 
part.  Mrs.  Champney  turned  to  the  postscript  again. 

"I  see  nothing  in  this  —  you're  romancing  again, 
Aileen;  you'd  better  put  it  aside;  it  will  get  you  into 
trouble  sometime." 

"Oh,  never  fear  for  me,  Mrs.  Champney;  I'll  take 
care  of  all  the  romancing  as  well  as  the  romances  — 
but  can't  you  see  by  those  few  words  that  it's  Mr.  Ben 
Falkenburg  who  is  going  to  make  the  yachting  trip 
for  Miss  Van  Ostend,  and  not  your  nephew?" 


22O  Flamsted  Quarries 

"No,  I  can't,"  Mrs.  Champney  answered  shortly, 
"  and  neither  could  you  if  your  eyes  were  n't  blinded 
by  your  infatuation  for  him." 

Aileen  rolled  up  her  work  deliberately.  If  the  time 
had  come  for  open  war  to  be  declared  between  the  two 
on  Champney  Googe's  account,  it  was  best  to  fight 
the  decisive  battle  now,  before  seeing  him  again.  She 
rose  and  stood  by  the  window. 

''What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Champney?"  Her 
temper  was  rising  quickly  as  it  always  did  when  Mrs. 
Champney  went  too  far.  She  had  spoken  but  once  of 
her  nephew  in  a  personal  way  to  Aileen  since  she  asked 
that  question  a  year  ago,  "What  do  you  think  of 
him?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say."  Her  voice  took  on  an  added 
shrillness.  "Your  infatuation  for  my  nephew  has  been 
patent  for  a  year  now  —  and  it's  time  you  should  be 
brought  to  your  senses;  I  can't  suppose  you're  fool 
enough  to  think  he'll  marry  you." 

Aileen  set  her  lips  close.  After  all,  it  was  not  best 
to  answer  this  woman  as  she  deserved  to  be  answered. 
She  controlled  the  increasing  anger  so  far  as  to  be  able 
to  smile  frankly  and  answer  lightly: 

"You've  no  need  to  worry,  Mrs.  Champney;  your 
nephew  has  never  asked  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"His  wife!"  she  echoed  scornfully;  "I  should  say 
not ;  and  let  me  tell  you  for  your  own  benefit  —  some 
time  you'll  thank  me  for  it  —  and  mark  my  words, 
Aileen  Armagh,  he  never  will  ask  you  to  be  his  wife, 
and  the  sooner  you  accept  this  unvarnished  truth  the 
better  it  will  be  for  you.  I  suppose  you  think  because 
you've  led  Romanzo  Caukins  and  young  Poggi  a  chase, 
you  can  do  the  same  with  Champney  Googe  —  but 
you'll  find  out  your  mistake  ;  such  men  are  n't 


Flamsted  Quarries  221 

led  —  they  lead.  He  is  going  to  marry  Alice  Van 
Ostend." 

"Do  you  know  this  for  a  fact,  Mrs.  Champney?" 
She  turned  upon  her  sharply.  She  was,  at  last,  at  bay; 
her  eyes  were  dark  with  anger;  her  lips  and  cheeks 
white. 

"It's  like  you  to  fly  off  at  a  tangent,  Aileen,  and 
doubt  a  person's  word  simply  because  it  happens  to 
contain  an  unpleasant  truth  for  you  —  here  is  the 
proof,"  she  held  up  a  letter;  "it's  from  my  cousin, 
Henry  Van  Ostend;  he  has  written  it  out  in  black 
and  \vhite  that  my  nephew  has  already  asked  for  his 
daughter's  hand.  Now  disabuse  your  mind  of  any 
notion  you  may  have  in  regard  to  Champney  Googe  — 
I  hope  you  won't  disgrace  yourself  by  crying  for  the 
moon  after  this." 

The  girl's  eyes  fairly  blazed  upon  her. 

"Mrs.  Champney,  after  this  I'll  thank  you  to  keep 
your  advice  and  your  family  affairs  to  yourself  —  / 
did  n't  ask  for  either.  And  you've  no  need  to  tell  me 
I'm  only  Aileen  Armagh  —  for  I  know  it  perfectly 
well.  I'm  only  an  orphan  you  took  into  your  home 
seven  years  ago  and  have  kept,  so  far,  for  her  service. 
But  if  I  am  only  this,  I  am  old  enough  to  do  and  act  as 
I  please  —  and  now  you  may  mark  my  words:  it 's  not 
I  who  will  disgrace  you  and  yours  —  not  I,  remember 
that!"  Her  anger  threatened  to  choke  her;  but  her 
voice  although  husky  remained  low,  never  rising  above 
its  level  inflection.  "And  let  me  tell  you  another  thing: 
I'm  as  good  any  day  as  Alice  Van  Ostend,  and  I  should 
despise  myself  if  I  thought  myself  less;  and  if  it's  the 
millions  that  make  the  difference  in  the  number  of  your 
friends  —  may  God  keep  me  poor  till  I  die !  "  She 
spoke  with  passionate  earnestness. 


222  Flamsted  Quarries 

Mrs.  Champney  smiled  to  herself;  she  felt  her  pur 
pose  was  accomplished. 

"Are  you  going  up  to  Mrs.  Caukins'?"  she  asked  in 
a  matter-of-fact  voice  that  struck  like  cold  iron  on  the 
girl's  burning  intensity  of  feeling. 

"Yes,  I'm  going." 

"Well,  be  back  by  seven." 

The  girl  made  no  reply.  She  left  the  library  at  once, 
closing  the  door  behind  her  with  a  force  that  made  the 
hall  ring.  Mrs.  Champney  smiled  again,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  re-read  Alice  Van  Ostend's  letter. 

Aileen  went  out  through  the  kitchen  and  across  the 
vegetable  garden  to  the  boat  house.  She  cast  loose 
one  of  the  boats  in  the  float,  took  her  seat  and  rowed 
out  into  the  lake  —  rowed  with  a  strength  and  swift 
ness  that  accurately  gauged  her  condition  of  mind. 
She  rounded  the  peninsula  of  The  Bow  and  headed 
her  boat,  not  to  the  sheds  on  the  north  shore,  but 
towards  the  west,  to  "lily-pad  reach."  To  get  away 
from  that  wroman's  presence,  to  be  alone  with  herself — 
that  was  all  she  craved  at  the  moment.  The  oars 
caught  among  the  lily-pads;  this  gave  her  an  excuse 
for  pulling  and  wrenching  at  them.  Her  anger  was 
still  at  white  heat  —  not  a  particle  of  color  as  yet 
tinged  her  cheeks  —  and  the  physical  exertion  neces 
sary  to  overcome  such  an  obstacle  as  the  long  tough 
stems  she  felt  to  be  a  relief. 

"  It  is  n't  true  —  it  is  n't  true,"  she  said  over  and 
over  again  to  herself.  She  kept  tugging  and  pulling  till 
by  sheer  strength  she  forced  the  boat  into  the  shallow 
water  among  the  tall  arrowhead  along  the  margin  of 
the  shore. 

She  stepped  out  on  the  landing  stones,  drew  up  the 
boat,  then  made  her  way  across  the  meadow  to  the 


Flamsted  Quarries  223 

shade  of  the  tall  spreading  willows.  Here  she  threw 
herself  down,  pressing  her  face  into  the  cool  lush  grass, 
and  relived  in  thought  that  early  morning  hour  she 
had  spent  alone  with  him,  only  a  few  weeks  ago,  on 
the  misty  lake  among  the  opening  water  lilies. 

She  had  been  awakened  that  morning  in  mid- July 
by  hearing  him  singing  softly  beneath  her  open  win 
dow  that  same  song  which  seven  years  ago  made 
such  an  unaccountable  impression  on  her  child's  heart. 
He  had  often  in  jest  threatened  to  repeat  the  episode 
of  the  serenade,  but  she  never  realized  that  beneath 
the  jest  there  was  any  deeper  meaning.  Now  she 
was  aware  of  that  meaning  in  her  every  fibre,  physical 
and  spiritual. 

"  Aileen  Mavoureen,  the  gray  dawn  is  breaking  —  " 

And  hearing  that,  realizing  that  the  voice  was  calling 
for  her  alone  in  all  the  world,  she  rose ;  dressed  herself 
quickly;  beckoned  joyously  to  him  from  the  window; 
noiselessly  made  her  way  down  the  back  stairs;  softly 
unbolted  the  kitchen  porch  door  — 

He  was  there  with  hands  outstretched  for  hers;  she 
placed  them  in  his,  and  again,  in  remembrance  of  their 
fun  and  frolic  seven  years  before,  he  raced  with  her 
down  the  slate-laid  garden  walk,  across  the  lawn  to  the 
boat  house  where  his  own  boat  lay  moored. 

It  was  four  o'clock  on  that  warm  midsummer  morn 
ing.  The  mists  lay  light  but  impenetrable  on  the  sur 
face  of  the  lake.  The  lilies  were  still  closed. 

They  spoke  but  little. 

"I  knew  no  one  could  hear  me  —  they  all  sleep  on 
the  other  side,  don't  they?" 

"Yes,  all  except  the  boy,  and  he  sleeps  like  a  log  — 


224  Flamsted  Quarries 

Tave  has  to  wake  him  every  morning ;  alarm  clocks  are 
no  good." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  the  lilies  open,  Aileen?" 

"No,  never;  I've  never  been  out  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  but  I've  often  seen  them  go  to  sleep  under  the 
starlight." 

"We  will  row  round  then  till  they  open  —  it's  worth 
seeing." 

The  sun  rose  in  the  low-lying  mists;  it  transfused 
them  with  crimson.  It  mounted  above  them ;  shot  them 
through  and  through  with  gold  and  violet  —  then 
dispersed  them  without  warning,  and  showed  to  the 
girl's  charmed  eyes  and  senses  the  gleaming  blue  of  the 
lake  waters  blotched  with  the  dull  green  of  the  lily- 
pads,  and  among  them  the  lilies  expanding  the  fragrant 
white  of  their  corollas  to  its  beneficent  light  and 
warmth.  .  .  . 

When  she  left  the  boat  his  kiss  was  on  her  lips,  his 
wrords  of  love  ringing  in  her  ears.  One  more  of  her  day 
dreams  was  realized :  she  had  given  to  the  man  she 
loved  with  all  her  heart  her  first  kiss  —  and  with  it, 
on  her  part,  the  unspoken  pledge  of  herself. 

A  movement  somewhere  about  the  house,  the  low 
ing  of  the  cattle,  the  morning  breeze  stirring  in  the 
trees  —  something  startled  them.  They  drew  apart, 
smiling  into  each  other's  eyes.  She  placed  her  finger 
on  her  lips. 

"  Hush  ! "  she  whispered.  She  was  off  on  a  run  across 
the  lawn,  turning  once  to  wave  her  hand  to  him.  — 
And  now  this! 

How  could  this  then  that  she  had  just  been  told  be 
true? 

Her  whole  being  revolted  at  the  thought  that  he  was 


Flamsted  Quarries  225 

tampering  with  what  to  her  was  the  holiest  in  her 
young  life  —  her  love  for  him.  In  the  past  six  weeks 
it  never  once  occurred  to  her  that  he  could  prove  un 
worthy  of  such  trust  as  hers;  no  man  would  dare  to 
be  untrue  to  her  —  to  her,  Aileen  Armagh,  who  never 
in  all  her  wilfulness  and  love  of  romance  had  given 
man  or  boy  occasion  to  use  either  her  name  or  her 
lightly !  How  dared  he  do  this  thing  ?  Did  he  not 
know  with  whom  he  had  to  deal?  Because  she  was 
only  Aileen  Armagh,  and  at  service  with  his  relation, 
did  he  think  her  less  the  true  woman? 

Suspicion  was  foreign  to  her  open  nature;  doubt, 
distrust  had  no  place  in  her  young  life;  but  like  a 
serpent  in  the  girl's  Eden  the  words  of  the  mistress  of 
Champ-au-Haut,  "He  never  will  ask  you  to  be  his 
wife,"  dropped  poison  in  her  ears. 

She  sat  up  on  the  grass,  thrust  back  her  hair  from 
her  forehead  — 

"Let  him  dare  to  hint  even  that  what  he  said  was 
love  for  me  was  not  what  —  what  —  ' 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
Aileen  —  Aileen  —  where  are  you  ?" 

That  voice,  breaking  in  upon  her  wretched  thought 
of  him,  brought  her  to  her  feet. 


VIII 

OTHER,  don't  you  think  Aunt  Meda 
might  open  her  purse  and  do  something 
for  Aileen  Armagh  now  that  the  girl  has 
been  faithful  to  her  interests  so  long?" 

He  had  remained  at  home  since  his  arrival  in  the 
morning,  and  was  now  about  to  drive  down  into  the 
town. 

His  mother  looked  up  from  her  sewing  in  surprise. 

"What  put  that  into  your  mind?  I  was  thinking 
the  same  thing  myself  not  a  week  ago;  she  has  such  a 
wonderful  voice." 

"It  seems  unjust  to  keep  her  from  utilizing  it  for 
herself  so  far  as  an  income  is  concerned  and  to  deprive 
others  of  the  pleasure  of  hearing  her  voice  after  it  is 
trained.  But,  of  course,  she  can't  do  it  herself." 

"I  only  wish  I  could  do  it  for  her."  His  mother 
spoke  with  great  earnestness.  "But  even  if  I  could 
help,  there  would  be  no  use  offering  so  long  as  she 
remains  with  Almeda." 

"Perhaps  not;  anyway,  I'm  going  down  there  now, 
and  I  shall  do  what  I  can  to  sound  Aunt  Meda  on 
this  point." 

"Good  luck!"  she  called  after  him.  He  turned, 
lifted  his  hat,  and  smiled  back  at  her. 

He  found  Mrs.  Champney  alone  on  the  terrace;  she 
was  sitting  under  the  ample  awning  that  protected  her 
from  the  sun  but  was  open  on  all  sides  for  air. 


Flamsted  Quarries  227 

"All  alone,  Aunt  Meda?"  he  inquired  cheerfully, 
taking  a  seat  beside  her. 

"Yes;  when  did  you  come?" 

"This  morning." 

"  Is  n't  it  rather  unexpected  ?"  She  glanced  sideways 
rather  sharply  at  him. 

"My  coming  here  is;  I'm  really  on  my  way  to  Bar 
Harbor.  The  Van  Ostends  are  off  on  Tuesday  with  a 
large  party  and  I  promised  to  go  with  them." 

"So  Alice  wrote  me  the  other  day.  It's  the  first 
letter  I  have  had  from  her.  She  says  she  is  coming 
here  on  her  way  home  in  October,  that  she's  'just 
crazy'  to  see  Flamsted  Quarries  —  but  I  can  read 
between  the  lines  even  if  my  eyes  are  old."  She  smiled 
significantly. 

Champney  felt  that  an  answering  smile  was  the  safe 
thing  in  the  circumstances.  He  wondered  how  much 
Aunt  Meda  knew  from  the  Van  Ostends.  That  she 
was  astute  in  business  matters  was  no  guaranty  that 
she  would  prove  far-sighted  in  matrimonial  affairs. 

"I've  known  Alice  so  long  that  she's  gotten  into  the 
habit  of  taking  me  for  granted  —  not  that  I  object," 
he  added  with  a  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  boat 
house.  Mrs.  Champney,  whom  nothing  escaped, 
noticed  it. 

"I  should  hope  not,"  she  said  emphatically.  "I 
may  as  well  tell  you,  Champney,  that  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
has  not  hesitated  to  write  me  of  your  continued  atten 
tions  to  Alice  and  your  frankness  with  him  in  regard 
to  the  outcome  of  this.  So  far  as  I  see,  his  only  object- 
tion  could  be  on  account  of  her  extreme  youth  —  I 
congratulate  you."  She  spoke  with  great  apparent 
sincerity. 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Meda,"  he  said  quietly;    "your 


228  Flamsted  Quarries 

congratulations  are  premature,  and  the  subject  so  far 
as  Alice  and  I  are  concerned  is  taboo  for  three  years  — 
at  Mr.  Van  Ostend's  special  request." 

"  Quite  right  —  a  girl  does  n't  know  her  own  mind 
before  she  is  twenty-five." 

"Faith,  I  know  one  who  knows  her  own  mind  on 
all  subjects  at  twenty!" — he  laughed  heartily  as  if 
at  some  amusing  remembrance  —  "and  that's  Aileen; 
by  the  way,  where  is  she,  Aunt  Meda?" 

"  She  was  going  up  to  Mrs.  Caukins'.  I  suppose  she 
is  there  now  —  why?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  talk  about  her,  and  I  don't  want 
her  to  come  in  on  us  suddenly." 

"What  about  Aileen?"     She  spoke  indifferently. 

"About  her  voice;  you've  never  been  willing,  I  un 
derstand,  to  have  it  cultivated?" 

"What  if  I  haven't?" 

"That's  just  the  'what',  Aunt  Meda,"  he  said 
pleasantly  but  earnestly;  "I've  heard  her  singing  a 
good  many  times,  and  I've  never  heard  her  that  I 
did  n't  wish  some  one  would  be  generous  enough  to 
such  talent  to  pay  for  cultivating  it." 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have  n't  been  willing?" 

"No,  I  don't  —  and  I'd  like  to  know." 

"  Because,  if  I  had,  she  would  have  been  on  the  stage 
before  now  —  and  where  could  I  get  another  ?  I  don't 
intend  to  impoverish  myself  for  her  sake  —  not  after 
what  I've  done  for  her."  She  spoke  emphatically. 
"What  was  your  idea  in  asking  me  about  her?" 

"I  thought  it  was  a  pity  that  such  a  talent  should  be 
left  to  go  to  seed.  I  wish  you  could  look  at  it  from  my 
standpoint  and  give  her  the  wherewithal  to  go  to  Europe 
for  three  or  four  years  in  order  to  cultivate  it  —  she  can 
take  care  of  herself  well  enough." 


Flamsted  Quarries  229 

"And  you  really  advise  this?"  She  asked  almost 
incredulously. 

"Why  not?  You  must  have  seen  my  interest  in  the 
girl.  I  can't  think  of  a  better  way  of  showing  it  than 
to  induce  you  to  put  her  in  the  way  of  earning  her 
livelihood  by  her  talent." 

Mrs.  Champney  made  no  direct  reply.  After  a  mo 
ment's  silence  she  asked  abruptly: 

"Have  you  ever  said  anything  to  her  about  this?" 

"Never  a  word." 

"  Don't  then ;  I  don't  want  her  to  get  any  more  new 
fangled  notions  into  her  head." 

"Just  as  you  say;  but  I  wish  you  would  think  about 
it  —  it  seems  almost  a  matter  of  justice."  He  rose 
to  go. 

"Where  are  you  going  now?" 

"  Over  to  the  shed  office;  I  wrant  to  see  the  foreman 
about  the  last  contract.  I'll  borrow  the  boat,  if  you 
don't  mind,  and  row  up  —  I  have  plenty  of  time." 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you 
before  I  go?"  he  asked  gently,  adjusting  an  awning 
curtain  to  shut  the  rays  of  the  sun  from  her  face. 

"Yes;  I  wish  you  would  telephone  up  to  Mrs. 
Caukins  and  tell  her  to  tell  Aileen  to  be  at  home  before 
six;  I  need  her  to-night." 

"Certainly." 

He  went  into  the  house  and  telephoned.  He  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  return  and  report  Mrs.  Caukins' 
reply  that  Aileen  "hadn't  come  up  yet."  He  went 
directly  to  the  boat  house,  wondering  in  the  mean  time 
where  she  was. 

One  of  the  two  boats  was  already  gone;  doubtless 
she  had  taken  it  —  where  could  she  be  ? 

He  stepped  into  the  boat,  and  pulled  slowly  out  into 


230  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  lake,  keeping  in  the  lee  of  the  rocky  peninsula  of 
The  Bow.  He  was  fairly  well  satisfied  with  his  effort 
in  Aileen's  behalf  and  with  himself  because  he  had 
taken  a  first  step  in  the  right  direction.  Neither  his 
mother  nor  Aunt  Meda  could  say  now  that  he  was  not 
disinterested;  if  Father  Honore  came  over,  as  was  his 
custom,  to  chat  with  him  on  the  porch  for  an  hour  or 
two  in  the  evening,  he  would  broach  the  subject  again 
to  him  who  was  the  girl's  best  friend.  If  she  could  go 
to  Europe  there  would  be  less  danger  — 

Danger?  —  Yes;  he  was  willing  to  admit  it,  less 
danger  for  them  both;  three  years  of  absence  would 
help  materially  in  this  matter  in  which  he  felt  himself 
too  deeply  involved.  Then,  in  the  very  face  of  this 
acknowledgment,  he  could  not  help  a  thought  that 
whitened  his  cheek  as  it  formulated  itself  instanta 
neously  in  his  consciousness :  if  she  were  three  years  in 
Europe,  there  would  be  opportunity  for  him  to  see  her 
sometime. 

He  knew  the  thought  could  not  be  uttered  in  the 
girl's  pure  presence;  yet,  with  many  others,  he  held 
that  a  woman,  if  she  loves  a  man  absorbingly,  pas 
sionately,  is  capable  of  any  sacrifice  —  would  she  ? 
Hardly;  she  was  so  high-spirited,  so  pure  in  thought 
—  yet  she  loved  him,  and  after  all  love  was  the  great 
Subduer.  But  no  —  it  could  never  be ;  this  was  his  de 
cision.  He  rowed  out  into  the  lake. 

Why  must  a  man's  action  prove  so  often  the  slave  of 
his  thought ! 

He  was  passing  the  arm  of  Mesantic  that  leads  to 
"lily-pad  reach."  He  turned  to  look  up  the  glinting 
curve.  Was  she  there  ?  —  should  he  seek  her  ? 

He  backed  water  on  the  instant.  The  boat  responded 
like  a  live  thing,  quivered,  came  to  a  partial  rest  — 


Flamsted  Quarries  231 

stopped,  undulating  on  the  surface  roughened  by  the 
powerful  leverage  of  the  oars.  Champney  sat  motionless, 
the  dripping  blades  suspended  over  the  water.  He 
knew  that  in  all  probability  the  girl  was  there  in  "lily- 
pad  reach."  Should  he  seek  her?  Should  he  go?  — 
Should  he? 

The  hands  that  held  the  steady  oars  quivered  sud 
denly,  then  gripped  them  as  in  a  vise;  the  man's  face 
flushed;  he  bent  to  the  right  oar,  the  craft  whirled 
half  way  on  her  keel ;  the  other  oar  fell  —  swiftly  and 
powerfully  the  boat  shot  ahead  up  "lily-pad  reach." 

Reason,  discretion,  judgment  razed  in  an  instant 
from  the  table  of  consciousness;  desire  rampant,  the 
desire  of  possession  to  which  intellect,  training,  en 
vironment,  even  that  goodward-turning  which  men 
under  various  aspects  term  religion,  succumb  in  a 
moment  like  the  present  one  in  which  Champney 
Googe  was  bending  all  his  strength  to  the  oars  that 
he  might  be  the  sooner  with  the  girl  he  loved. 

He  did  not  ask  himself  what  next?  He  gave  no 
thought  to  aught  but  reaching  the  willows  as  soon  as 
he  could.  His  eye  was  on  the  glinting  curve  before 
him ;  he  rounded  it  swiftly  —  her  boat  was  there  tied 
to  the  stake  among  the  arrowhead;  his  own  dragged 
through  the  lily-pads  beside  it;  he  sprang  out,  ran  up 
the  bank  — 

"Aileen  —  Aileen  —  where  are  you?"  he  called 
eagerly,  impatiently,  and  sought  about  him  to  find  her. 

Aileen  Armagh  heard  that  call,  and  doubt,  sus 
picion,  anger  dropped  away  from  her.  Instead,  trust, 
devotion,  anticipation  clothed  her  thought  of  him;  he 
was  coming  to  speak  the  "word"  that  was  to  make 
her  future  fair  and  plain  —  the  one  "word"  that 
should  set  him  forever  in  her  heart,  enthrone  him  in 


232  Flamsted  Quarries 

her  life.  That  word  was  not  "love",  but  the  sacrament 
of  love;  the  word  of  four  letters  which  a  woman  writes 
large  with  legitimate  loving  pride  in  the  face  of  the 
world.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  waited  for  him; 
the  willows  drooped  on  either  side  of  her  —  so  he  saw 
her  again. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms.  "Aileen —  Aileen,"  he 
said  over  and  over  again  between  the  kisses  that  fell 
upon  her  hair,  forehead,  lips. 

She  yielded  herself  to  his  embrace,  passionately 
given  and  returned  with  all  a  girl's  loving  ardor  and 
joy  in  the  loved  man's  presence.  Between  the  kisses 
she  waited  for  the  "word." 

It  was  not  forthcoming. 

She  drew  away  from  him  slightly  and  looked  straight 
into  his  eyes  that  were  devouring  her  face  and  form. 
The  unerring  instinct  of  a  pure  nature  warned  her 
against  that  look.  He  caught  her  to  him  —  but  she 
stemmed  both  hands  against  his  breast  to  repulse 
him. 

"Let  me  go,  Champney,"  she  said  faintly. 

"Why  should  I  let  you  go?  Aileen,  my  Aileen,  why 
should  I  ever  let  you  go?"  A  kiss  closed  the  lips  that 
were  about  to  reply  —  a  kiss  so  long  and  passionate 
that  the  girl  felt  her  strength  leaving  her  in  the  close 
embrace. 

"He  will  speak  the  'word'  now  surely,"  she  told 
herself.  Between  their  heart-throbs  she  listened  for  it. 

The  "word"  was  not  spoken. 

Again  she  stemmed  her  hands  against  him,  pressing 
them  hard  against  his  shoulders.  "Let  me  go,  Champ 
ney."  She  spoke  with  spirit. 

The  act  of  repulsion,  the  ring  in  her  voice  half  an 
gered  him ;  at  the  same  time  it  added  fuel  to  desire. 


Flamsted  Quarries  233 

"I  will  not  let  you  go  —  you  love  me  —  tell  me 
so  —  " 

He  waited  for  no  reply  but  caught  her  close;  the 
girl  struggled  in  his  arms.  It  was  dawning  on  her  un 
daunted  spirit  that  this,  which  she  was  experiencing 
with  Champney  Googe,  the  man  she  loved  \vith  all  her 
heart,  was  not  love.  Of  a  sudden,  all  that  brave  spirit 
rose  in  arms  to  ward  off  from  herself  any  spoken 
humiliation  to  her  womanhood,  ay  more,  to  prevent 
the  man  she  loved  from  deepening  his  humiliation  of 
himself  in  her  presence. 

"Let  me  go"  she  said,  but  despite  her  effort  for 
control  her  voice  trembled. 

"  You  know  I  love  you  —  why  do  you  repel  me 
so?" 

"Let  me  go"  she  said  again;  this  time  her  voice  was 
firm,  the  tone  peremptory;  but  she  made  no  further 
struggle  to  free  herself  from  his  arms.  —  "  Oh,  what 
are  you  doing!" 

"  I  am  making  the  attempt  to  find  out  if  you  love  me 
as  I  love  you  —  " 

"You  have  no  right  to  kiss  me  so  —  " 

"  I  have  the  right  because  I  love  you  —  " 

"But  I  don't  love  you." 

"Yes  you  do,  Aileen  Armagh  —  don't  say  that 
again." 

"I  do  not  love  you  —  let  me  go,  I  say." 

He  let  her  go  at  last.  She  stood  before  him,  pale, 
but  still  undaunted. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?"  he  demanded 
almost  fiercely  under  his  breath.  He  took  her  head 
between  his  hands  and  bent  it  back  to  close  her  lips 
with  another  kiss. 

"Yes,  I  know.     I  do  not  love  you  —  don't  touch 


234  Flamsted  Quarries 

me!"  She  held  out  her  hands  to  him,  palm  outwards, 
as  if  warding  off  some  present  danger. 

He  paid  no  heed  to  her  warning,  but  caught  her  to 
him  again.  "Tell  me  now  you  don't  love  me,  Aileen," 
he  whispered,  laying  his  cheek  to  hers. 

"I  tell  you  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  said  aloud;  her 
voice  was  clear  and  firm. 

He  drew  back  then  to  look  at  her  in  amazement; 
turned  away  for  a  moment  as  if  half  dazed;  then, 
holding  her  to  his  side  with  his  left  arm  he  laid  his  ear 
hard  over  her  heart.  What  was  it  that  paled  the  man's 
flushed  cheeks? 

The  girl's  heart  wras  beating  slowly,  calmly,  even 
faintly.  He  caught  her  wrist,  pressing  his  fingers  on 
her  pulse  —  there  was  not  the  suspicion  of  a  flutter. 
He  let  her  go  then.  She  stood  before  him;  her  eyes 
were  raised  fearlessly  to  his. 

"I'm  going  to  row  back  now  —  no,  don't  speak — • 
not  a  word  —  " 

She  turned  and  walked  slowly  down  to  the  boat; 
cast  it  off;  poled  it  with  one  oar  out  of  the  tall  arrow 
head  and  the  thick  fringe  of  lily-pads;  took  her  seat; 
fitted  the  oars  to  the  rowlocks,  dipped  them,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  row  steadily  down  the  reach  towards  The 
Bow. 

Champney  Googe  stood  where  she  had  left  him  till 
he  watched  her  out  of  sight  around  the  curve;  then  he 
went  over  to  the  willows  and  sat  down.  It  took  time 
for  him  to  recover  from  his  debauch  of  feeling.  He 
made  himself  few  thoughts  at  first ;  but  as  time  passed 
and  the  shadows  lengthened  on  the  reach,  he  came 
slowly  to  himself.  The  night  fell;  the  man  still  sat 
there,  but  the  thoughts  were  now  crowding  fast,  un 
comfortably  fast.  He  dropped  his  head  into  his  hands, 


Flamsted  Quarries  235 

so  covering  his  face  in  the  dark  for  very  shame  that 
he  had  so  outraged  his  manhood.  He  knew  now  that 
she  knew  he  had  not  intended  to  speak  that  "  word  " 
between  them;  but  no  finer  feeling  told  him  that  she 
had  saved  him  from  himself. 

In  that  hour  he  saw  himself  as  he  was  —  unworthy 
of  a  good  woman's  love. 

He  saw  other  things  as  well ;  these  he  hoped  to  make 
good  in  the  near  future,  but  this  —  but  this ! 

He  rowed  back  under  cover  of  the  dark  to  Champ- 
au-Haut.  Octavius,  who  was  wondering  at  his  non- 
appearance  with  the  boat,  met  him  with  a  lantern  at 
the  float. 

"Here's  a  telegram  just  come  up;  the  operator  gave 
it  to  me  for  you.  I  told  him  you  was  out  in  the  boat 
and  would  be  here  'fore  you  went  up  home." 

"All  right,  Tave."  He  opened  it;  read  it  by  the 
light  of  the  lantern. 

"I've  got  to  go  back  to  New  York  —  it's  a  matter 
of  business.  It's  all  up  with  my  vacation  and  the 
yachting  cruise  now," — he  looked  at  his  watch, — 
"seven;  I  can  get  the  eight-thirty  accommodation  to 
Hallsport,  and  that  will  give  me  time  to  catch  the 
Eastern  express." 

"Hold  on  a  minute  and  I'll  get  your  trap  from  the 
stable  — -  it 's  all  ready  for  you." 

"No,  I'll  get  it  myself  —  good-bye,  Tave,  I'm  off." 

"  Good-bye,  Champney." 

"Champ's  worried  about  something,"  he  said  to 
himself;  he  was  making  fast  the  boat.  "I  never  see 
him  look  like  that  —  I  hope  he  has  n't  got  hooked  in 
with  any  of  those  Wall  Street  sharks." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  heard  the  carriage  wheels  on 


236  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  gravel  in  the  driveway.  He  stopped  on  his  way  to 
the  stable  to  listen. 

"He's  driving  like  Jehu,"  he  muttered.  He  was 
still  listening;  he  heard  the  frequent  snorting  of  the 
horse,  the  rapid  click  of  hoofs  on  the  highroad  —  but 
he  did  not  hear  what  was  filling  the  driver's  ears  at 
that  moment :  the  roar  of  an  unseen  cataract. 

Champney  Googe  was  realizing  for  the  first  time 
that  he  was  in  mid-stream;  that  he  might  not  be  able 
to  breast  the  current;  that  the  eddying  water  about 
him  was  in  fact  the  whirlpool;  that  the  rush  of  what 
he  had  deemed  mere  harmless  rapids  was  the  prelude 
to  the  thunderous  fall  of  a  cataract  ahead. 


IX 


FOR  several  weeks  after  her  nephew's  visit,  Mrs. 
Champney  occupied  many  of  her  enforced 
leisure  half-hours  in  trying  to  put  two  and^two 
together  in  their  logical  combination  of  four;  but 
thus  far  she  had  failed.  She  learned  through  Octavius 
that  Champney  had  returned  to  New  York  on  Satur 
day  evening;  that  in  consequence  he  was  obliged  to 
give  up  the  cruise  with  the  Van  Ostends;  from  Champ 
ney  himself  she  had  no  wrord.  Her  conclusion  was 
that  there  had  been  no  chance  for  him  to  see  Aileen 
during  the  twelve  hours  he  was  in  town,  for  the  girl 
came  home  as  requested  shortly  before  six,  but  with  a 
headache,  and  the  excuse  for  it  that  she  had  rowed  too 
far  in  the  sun  on  the  way  up  to  the  sheds. 

"My  nephew  told  me  he  was  going  to  row  up  to  the 
sheds,  too  —  did  you  happen  to  meet  him  there?"  she 
inquired.  She  was  studying  the  profile  of  the  girl's 
flushed  and  sunburned  face.  Aileen  had  just  said 
good  night  and  was  about  to  leave  Mrs.  Champney 's 
room.  She  turned  quickly  to  face  her.  She  spoke  with 
sharp  emphasis: 

"I  did  not  meet  your  nephew  at  the  sheds,  Mrs. 
Champney,  nor  did  I  see  him  there  —  and  I  '11  thank 
you,  after  what  you  said  to  me  this  morning,  to  draw 
no  more  conclusions  in  regard  to  your  nephew's  seeing 
or  meeting  me  at  the  sheds  or  anywhere  else  —  it's  not 
worth  your  while;  for  I've  no  desire  either  to  see  or 
meet  him  again.  Perhaps  this  will  satisfy  you."  She 


238  Flamsted  Quarries 

left  the  room  at  once  without  giving  Mrs.  Champney 
time  to  reply. 

A  self-satisfied  smile  drew  apart  Mrs.  Champney's 
thin  lips;  evidently  the  girl's  lesson  was  a  final  and 
salutary  one.  She  would  know  her  place  after  this. 
She  determined  not  to  touch  on  this  subject  again 
with  Aileen;  she  might  run  the  risk  of  going  too  far, 
and  she  desired  to  keep  her  with  her  as  long  as  possible. 
But  she  noticed  that  the  singing  voice  was  heard  less 
and "  less  frequently  about  the  house  and  grounds. 
Octavius  also  noticed  it,  and  missed  it. 

"Aileen,  you  don't  sing  as  much  as  you  did  a  while 
ago  —  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked  her  one  day  in 
October  when  she  joined  him  to  go  up  street  after 
supper  on  an  errand. 

"  Matter  ?  —  I ' ve  sung  out  for  one  while ;  I  'm  taking 
a  rest-cure  with  my  voice,  Tave." 

"It  ain't  the  kind  of  rest-cure  that'll  agree  with  you, 
nor  I  guess  any  of  us  at  Champo.  There  ain't  no 
trouble  with  her  that's  bothering  you?"  He  pointed 
with  a  backward  jerk  of  his  thumb  to  the  house. 

"No." 

"  She  's  acted  mad  ever  since  I  told  her  Champney 
had  to  go  back  that  night  and  tend  to  business;  guess 
she'd  set  her  heart  on  his  making  a  match  on  that 
yachting  cruise  —  well,  't  would  be  all  in  the  family, 
seeing  there's  Champney  blood  in  the  Van  Ostends, 
good  blood  too,  —  there's  no  better,"  he  added 
emphatically. 

"Oh,  Tave,  you're  always  blowing  the  Champneys' 
horn  —  " 

"And  why  shouldn't  I?"  —  he  was  decidedly  net 
tled.  "The  Champneys  are  my  folks,  my  townspeople, 
the  founders  of  this  town,  and  their  interests  have 


Flamsted  Quarries  239 

always  been  mine  —  why  should  n't  I  speak  up  for 
'em,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  You  won't  find  no  better  blood 
in  the  United  States  than  the  Champneys'." 

Aileen  made  no  reply;  she  was  looking  up  the  street 
to  Poggi's  fruit  stall,  where  beneath  a  street  light  she 
saw  a  crowd  of  men  from  the  quarries. 

"Romanzo  said  there  was  some  trouble  in  the  sheds 
—  do  you  know  what  it  is?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  I  can't  get  at  the  rights  of  it ;  they  did  n't  get 
paid  off  last  week,  so  Romanzo  told  me  last  night,  but 
he  said  Champney  telegraphed  he'd  fix  it  all  right  in 
another  week.  He  says  dollars  are  scarce  just  at  this 
time  —  crops  moving,  you  know,  and  market  dull." 

She  laughed  a  little  scornfully.  "You  seem  to  think 
Mr.  Googe  can  fix  everything  all  right,  Tave." 

" Champney 's  no  fool;  he's  'bout  as  interested  in 
this  home  work  as  anybody,  and  if  he  says  it'll  be  all 
right,  you  may  bet  your  life  it  will  be  —  There's  Jo 
Quimber  coming;  p'raps  he's  heard  something  and 
can  tell  us." 

"What's  that  crowd  up  to,  Uncle  Jo?"  said  Aileen, 
linking  her  arm  in  the  old  man's  and  making  him  right 
about  face  to  walk  on  with  them. 

"Talkin'  a  strike.  I  heerd  'em  usin'  Champ's  name 
mighty  free,  Tave,  just  now  —  guess  he'd  better  come 
home  an'  calm  'em  down  some,  or  there'll  be  music  in 
the  air  thet  this  town  never  danced  to  yet.  By  A.  J., 
it  riles  me  clear  through  to  hear  'em !" 

"You  can't  blame  them  for  wanting  their  pay, 
Uncle  Jo."  There  was  a  challenge  in  the  girl's  voice 
which  Uncle  Jo  immediately  accepted. 

"So  ye've  j'ined  the  majority  in  this  town,  hev  ye, 
Aileen?  I  don't  say  ez  I'm  blamin'  anybody  fer 
wantin'  his  pay;  I'm  jest  sayin'  it  don't  set  well  on  me 


240  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  way  they  go  at  it  to  get  it.  How's  the  quickest 
way  to  git  up  a  war,  eh?  Jest  keep  talkin'  it  up  — 
talkin'  it  up,  an'  it's  sure  to  come.  They  don't  give 
a  man  like  Champ  a  chance  —  talkin'  behind  his  back 
and  usin'  a  good  old  Flamsted  name  ez  ef  't  wuz  a  mop 
rag!"  Joel's  indignation  got  the  better  of  his  discre 
tion;  his  voice  was  so  loud  that  it  began  to  attract 
the  attention  of  some  men  who  were  leaving  Poggi's; 
the  crowd  was  rapidly  dispersing. 

"  Sh  —  Joel !  they  '11  hear  you.  You've  been  stand 
ing  up  for  everything  foreign  that's  come  into  this 
town  for  the  last  seven  years  —  what 's  come  over  you 
that  you're  going  back  on  all  your  preaching?" 

"I  ain't  goin'  back  on  nothin',"  the  old  man  replied 
testily;  "but  a  man's  a  man,  I  don't  keer  whether  he's 
a  Polack  or  a  'Merican  —  I  don't  keer  nothin'  'bout 
thet;  but  ef  he's  a  man  he  knows  he'd  oughter  stop 
backbitin'  and  hittin'  out  behind  another  man's  back  — 
he'd  oughter  come  out  inter  the  open  an'  say,  'You 
ain't  done  the  right  thing  by  me,  now  let's  both  hev  it 
out ',  instead  of  growlin'  and  grumblin'  an'  spittin' 
out  such  all-fired  nonsense  'bout  the  syndicaters  and 
Champ  —  what's  Champ  got  to  do  with  it,  anyway? 
He  can't  make  money  for  'em." 

The  crowds  were  surging  past  them;  the  men  were 
talking  together;  their  confused  speech  precluded  the 
possibility  of  understanding  what  was  said. 

"He's  no  better  than  other  men,  Uncle  Jo,"  the  girl 
remarked  after  the  men  had  passed.  She  laughed  as 
she  spoke,  but  the  laugh  was  not  a  pleasant  one;  it 
roused  Octavius. 

"Now,  look  here,  Aileen,  you  stop  right  where  you 
are  —  " 

She  interrupted  him,  and  her  voice  was  again  both 


Flamsted  Quarries  241 

merry  and  pleasant,  for  they  were  directly  opposite 
Luigi's  shop:  "I'm  going  to,  Tave;  I'm  going  to  stop 
right  here;  Mrs.  Champney  sent  me  down  on  purpose 
to  get  some  of  those  late  peaches  Luigi  keeps;  she  said 
she  craved  them,  and  I'm  going  in  this  very  minute  to 
get  them  —  " 

She  waved  her  hand  to  both  and  entered  the  shop. 

Old  Quimber  caught  Octavius  by  the  arm  to  detain 
him  a  moment  before  he  himself  retraced  his  steps  up 
street. 

"What  d'ye  think,  Tave?  —  they  goin'  to  make  a 
match  on't,  she  an'  Poggi?  I  see  'm  together  a  sight." 

"You  can't  tell  'bout  Aileen  any  more'n  a  weather 
cock.  She  might  go  farther  and  fare  worse." 

"Thet's  so,  Tave;  Poggi's  a  man,  an'  a  credit  to 
our  town.  I  guess  from  all  I  hear  Romanzo  's  'bout 
give  it  up,  ain't  he?" 

"Romanzo  never  had  a  show  with  Aileen,"  Octavius 
said  decidedly;  "he  ain't  her  kind." 

"Guess  you're  right,  Tave  —  By  A.  J.  there  they 
go  now  !  "  He  nudged  Octavius  with  his  elbow.  Octa 
vius,  who  had  passed  the  shop  and  was  standing  on  the 
sidewalk  with  old  Quimber,  saw  the  two  leave  it  and 
walk  slowly  in  the  direction  of  The  Bow.  He  listened 
for  the  sound  of  Aileen's  merry  laugh  and  chat,  but  he 
heard  nothing.  His  grave  face  at  once  impressed  Joel. 

"Something's  up  'twixt  those  two,  eh,  Tave?"  he 
whispered. 

Octavius  nodded  in  reply;  he  was  comprehending 
all  that  old  man's  words  implied.  He  bade  Quimber 
good  night  and  walked  on  to  The  Greenbush.  The 
Colonel  found  him  more  taciturn  than  usual  that 
evening.  .  .  . 


242  Flamsted  Quarries 

"I  can't,  Luigi,  —  I  can't  marry  you,"  she  answered 
almost  irritably.  The  two  were  nearing  the  entrance 
to  Champo;  the  Italian  was  pleading  his  cause.  "I 
can't  —  so  don't  say  anything  more  about  it." 

"But,  Aileen,  I  will  wait  —  I  can  wait;  I've 
wraited  so  long  already.  I  believe  I  began  to  love  you 
through  that  knothole,  you  remember?" 

"I  haven't  forgotten;"  she  half  smiled  at  the  re 
membrance;  "but  that  seems  so  long  ago,  and  things 
have  changed  so  —  I've  changed,  Luigi." 

The  tone  of  her  voice  was  hard.  Luigi  looked  at 
her  in  surprise. 

"  What  has  changed  you,  Aileen  ?  Tell  me  —  can't 
you  trust  me?" 

"Luigi !"  —  she  faced  him  suddenly,  looking  straight 
up  into  his  handsome  face  that  turned  wrhite  as  he 
became  aware  that  what  she  was  about  to  say  was 
final  —  "I'd  give  anything  if  I  could  say  to  you  what 
you  want  me  to  —  you  deserve  all  my  love,  if  I  could 
only  give  it  to  you,  for  you  are  faithful  and  true,  and 
mean  what  you  say  —  it  would  be  the  best  thing  for 
me,  I  know;  but  I  can't,  Luigi;  I've  nothing  to  give, 
and  it  would  be  living  a  lie  to  you  from  morning  till 
night  to  give  you  less  than  you  deserve.  I  only  blame 
myself  that  I'm  not  enough  like  other  girls  to  know  a 
good  man  when  I  see  him,  and  take  his  love  with  a 
thankful  heart  that  it's  mine  —  but  it's  no  use  —  don't 
blame  me  for  being  myself  -  Her  lips  trembled ;  she 
bit  the  lower  one  white  in  her  effort  to  steady  it. 

For  a  moment  Luigi  made  no  reply.     Suddenly  he 

leaned  towards  her  —  she  drew  away  from  him  quickly 

—  and  said  between  his  teeth,  all  the  long-smouldering 

fire  of  southern  passion,  passion  that  is  founded  on 

jealousy,  glowing  in  his  eyes : 


Flamsted  Quarries  243 

"Tell  me,  Aileen  Armagh,  is  there  another  man  you 
love  ?  —  tell  me  —  " 

Rag  who  had  been  with  her  all  the  afternoon  moved 
with  a  quick  threatening  motion  to  her  side  and  a  warn 
ing  gurr  —  rrrr  for  the  one  who  should  dare  to  touch 
her. 

"No."  She  spoke  defiantly.  Luigi  straightened 
himself.  Rag  sprang  upon  her  fawning  and  caressing; 
she  shoved  him  aside  roughly,  for  the  dog  was  at  that 
moment  but  the  scapegoat  for  his  master ;  Rag  cowered 
at  her  feet. 

"  Ah  —  It  was  a  long-drawn  breath  of  relief. 
Luigi  Poggi's  eyes  softened ;  the  fire  in  them  ceased  to 
leap  and  blaze;  something  like  hope  brightened  them. 

"I  could  bear  anything  but  that  —  I  was  afraid  —  " 
He  hesitated. 

"  Afraid  of  what  ?"  She  caught  up  his  words  sharply, 
and  began  to  walk  rapidly  up  the  driveway. 

He  answered  slowly:  "I  was  afraid  you  were  in  love 
with  Mr.  Googe  —  I  saw  you  once  out  rowing  with 
him  —  early  one  morning  —  " 

"I  in  love  with  Mr.  Googe!"  she  echoed  scornfully, 
"you  need  n't  ever  be  afraid  of  that;  I  —  I  hate  him !" 

Luigi  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  He  scarce  could 
keep  pace  with  her  rapid  walk  that  wras  almost  a  run. 
Her  cheeks  were  aflame;  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
All  her  pent  up  wretchedness  of  the  last  two  months, 
all  her  outraged  love,  her  womanhood's  humiliation,  a 
sense  of  life's  bitter  injustice  and  of  her  impotence  to 
avenge  the  wrong  put  upon  her  affections,  found  vent 
in  these  three  words.  And  Luigi,  seeing  Aileen  Armagh 
changed  into  something  that  an  hour  before  he  would 
not  have  believed  possible,  was  gripped  by  a  sudden 
fear,  —  he  must  know  the  truth  for  his  own  peace  of 


244  Flamsted  Quarries 

mind,  —  and,  under  its  influence,  he  laid  his  hand  on 
her  arm  and  brought  her  to  a  standstill. 

Rag  snarled  another  warning;  Aileen  thrust  him 
aside  with  her  foot. 

"What  has  he  done  to  you  to  make  you  hate  him 
so?" 

Because  he  spoke  slowly,  Aileen  thought  he  was 
speaking  calmly.  Had  she  not  been  carried  away  by 
her  own  strength  of  feeling,  she  would  have  known 
that  she  might  not  risk  the  answer  she  gave  him. 

"Done  to  me?  —  nothing;  what  could  he  do?  — 
but  I  hate  him  —  I  never  want  to  see  his  face 
again !" 

She  was  beside  herself  with  anger  and  shame.  It 
was  the  tone  of  Luigi's  voice  that  brought  her  to  her 
senses;  in  a  flash  she  recalled  Octavius  Buzzby's 
warning  about  playing  with  "volcanic  fires."  It  was 
too  late,  however,  to  recall  her  words. 

"Luigi,  I've  said  too  much;  you  don't  understand  — 
now  let's  drop  it."  She  drew  away  her  arm  from  be 
neath  his  hand,  and  resumed  her  rapid  walk  up  the 
driveway,  Rag  trotting  after  her. 

"And  you  mean  what  you  say  —  you  never  want  to 
see  him  again?"  He  spoke  again  slowly. 

"Never,"  she  said  firmly. 

Luigi  made  no  reply.  They  were  nearing  the  house. 
She  turned  to  him  when  they  reached  the  steps. 

"Luigi,"  —  she  put  out  her  hand  and  he  took  it  in 
both  his,  —  "forget  what  I've  said  about  another  and 
forgive  me  for  what  I've  had  to  say  to  yourself  —  we've 
always  been  such  good  friends,  that  now  —  " 

She  was  ready  with  the  smile  that  captivated  him, 
but  it  was  a  tremulous  one  for  she  smiled  through  tears ; 
she  was  thinking  of  the  contrast. 


Flamsted  Quarries  245 

"And  always  will  be,  Aileen,  when  we  both  know 
for  good  and  all  that  we  can  be  nothing  more  to  each 
other,"  he  answered  gently. 

She  was  grateful  to  him;  but  she  turned  away  and 
went  up  the  steps  without  saying  good-bye. 


X 


AD,  I  wish  I  was  well  out  of  it  1" 

For  the  first  time  within  the  memory  of 
Elmer  Wiggins  and  Lawyer  Emlie,  who 
heard  the  Colonel's  ejaculation,  his  words  and  tone 
proclaimed  the  fact  that  he  was  not  in  his  seemingly 
unfailing  good  spirits.  He  was  standing  with  the  two 
at  the  door  of  the  drug  shop  and  watching  the  crowds 
of  men  gathered  in  groups  along  the  main  street. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon  and  the  men  were  idle, 
a  weekly  occurrence  the  Colonel  had  learned  to  dread 
since  his  incumbency  as  deputy  sheriff  and,  in  conse 
quence  of  his  office,  felt  responsible  for  the  peace  of 
the  community  at  large  until  Monday  morning. 

Something  unusual  was  in  the  air,  and  the  three  men 
were  at  once  aware  of  it.  The  uneasiness,  that  had  pre 
vailed  in  the  sheds  and  at  The  Gore  during  the  past 
month,  was  evidently  coming  to  a  crisis  now  that  the 
men's  pay  was  two  weeks  overdue. 

Emlie  looked  grave  on  replying,  after  a  pause  in 
which  the  three  were  busy  taking  note  of  the  constantly 
increasing  crowd  in  front  of  the  town  hall: 

"I  don't  blame  you,  Colonel;  there'll  be  the  deuce 
to  pay  if  the  men  don't  get  paid  off  by  Monday  noon. 
They've  been  uneasy  now  so  long  about  the  piece  work 
settlement,  that  this  last  delay  is  going  to  be  the  match 
that  fires  the  train  —  and  no  slow  match  either  from 
the  looks;  I  don't  understand  this  delay.  When  did 
Romanzo  send  his  last  message?" 


Flamsted  Quarries  247 

"About  an  hour  ago,  but  he  hasn't  had  any  answer 
yet,"  replied  the  Colonel,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hat  to  look  up  street  at  the  town  hall  crowd.  "He  has 
been  telephoning  and  telegraphing  off  and  on  for  the 
last  two  weeks ;  but  he  can't  get  any  satisfaction  — 
corporations,  you  know,  don't  materialize  just  for  the 
rappings." 

"What  does  Champney  say?"  inquired  Mr.  Wiggins. 

"State  of  the  market,"  said  the  Colonel  laconically. 

The  men  did  not  look  at  one  another,  for  each  was 
feeling  a  certain  degree  of  indignation,  of  humiliation 
and  disappointment  that  one  of  their  own,  Champ 
ney  Googe,  should  go  back  on  Flamsted  to  the  extent 
of  allowing  the  "market"  to  place  the  great  quarry 
interests,  through  non-payment  of  the  workers,  in 
jeopardy. 

"Has  Romanzo  heard  direct  from  him  to-day?" 
asked  Emlie. 

"No;  the  office  replied  he  was  out  of  the  city  for 
Saturday  and  Sunday ;  did  n't  give  his  address  but 
asked  if  we  could  keep  the  men  quiet  till  the  middle 
of  next  week  when  the  funds  would  be  forwarded." 

"I  wired  our  New  York  exchange  yesterday,"  said 
Emlie,  "  but  they  can't  give  us  any  information  —  an 
swered  things  had  gone  to  pot  pretty  generally  with 
certain  securities,  but  Flamsted  was  all  right,  —  not 
tied  up  in  any  of  them.  Of  course,  they  know  the 
standing  of  the  syndicate.  There'll  have  to  be  some 
new  arrangement  for  a  large  reserve  fund  right  here  on 
home  soil,  or  we'll  be  kept  in  hot  water  half  the  time. 
I  don't  believe  in  having  the  hands  that  work  in  one 
place,  and  the  purse  that  holds  their  pay  in  another;  it 
gets  too  ticklish  at  such  times  when  the  market  drops 
and  a  plank  or  two  at  the  bottom  falls  out." 


248  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Neither  do  I;"  Mr.  Wiggins  spoke  emphatically. 
"The  Quarries  Company's  liabilities  run  up  into  the 
millions  on  account  of  the  contracts  they  have  signed 
and  the  work  they  have  undertaken,  and  there  ought 
to  be  a  million  of  available  assets  to  discount  panics 
like  this  one  that  looks  pretty  threatening  to  us  away 
off  here  in  Maine.  Our  bank  ought  to  have  the  benefit 
of  some  of  the  money." 

"Well,  so  far,  we've  had  our  trouble  for  nothing, 
you  might  say.  You,  as  a  director,  know  that  Champ- 
ney  sends  up  a  hundred  thousand  say  on  Thursday, 
and  Romanzo  draws  it  for  the  pay  roll  and  other  dis 
bursements  on  Saturday  morning;  they  hold  it  at  the 
other  end  to  get  the  use  of  it  till  the  last  gun  is  fired." 
He  spoke  with  irritation. 

"It  looks  to  me  as  if  some  sort  of  a  gun  had  been 
fired  already,"  said  Mr.  Wiggins,  pointing  to  the  in 
creasing  crowd  before  the  hall. 

"Something's  up,"  said  Emlie,  startled  at  the  sight 
of  the  gathering  hundreds. 

"Then  there's  my  place,"  said  the  Colonel  —  the 
other  two  thought  they  heard  him  sigh  —  and  started 
up  the  street. 

Emlie  turned  to  Mr.  Wiggins. 

"It's  rough  on  the  Colonel;  he's  a  man  of  peace  if 
ever  there  was  one,  and  likes  to  stand  well  with  one  and 
all.  This  rough  and  tumble  business  of  sheriff  goes 
against  the  grain;  his  time  is  up  next  month;  he'll  be 
glad  enough  to  be  out  of  it.  I'll  step  over  to  the  office 
for  the  paper,  I  see  they've  just  come  —  the  men  have 
got  them  already  from  the  stand  —  " 

Elmer  Wiggins  caught  his  arm. 

"Look!"  he  cried  under  his  breath,  pointing  to  the 
crowd  and  a  man  who  was  mounting  the  tail  of  an  ex- 


Flamsted  Quarries  249 

press  wagon  that  had  halted  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
throng.  "That's  one  of  the  quarrymen  —  he's  ring 
leader  every  time  —  he's  going  to  read  'em  something 
—  hark!" 

They  could  hear  the  man  haranguing  the  ever- 
increasing  crowd;  he  was  waving  a  newspaper.  They 
could  not  hear  what  he  was  saying,  but  in  the  pauses 
of  his  speechifying  the  hoarse  murmur  of  approval 
grew  louder  and  louder.  The  cart-tail  orator  pointed  to 
the  headlines ;  there  was  a  sudden  deep  silence,  so  deep 
that  the  soft  scurrying  of  a  mass  of  fallen  elm  leaves 
in  the  gutter  seemed  for  a  moment  to  fill  all  the  air. 
Then  the  man  began  to  read.  They  saw  the  Colonel 
on  the  outside  of  the  crowd;  saw  him  suddenly  turn 
and  make  with  all  haste  for  the  post-office;  saw  him 
re-appear  reading  the  paper. 

The  two  hurried  across  the  street  to  him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Emlie  demanded. 

The  Colonel  spoke  no  word.  He  held  the  sheet  out 
to  them  and  with  shaking  forefinger  pointed  to  the 
headlines : 

BIG   EMBEZZLEMENT   BY  FLAMSTED 
QUARRIES   CO.    OFFICIAL 

GUILTY  MAN  A  FUGITIVE  FROM 
JUSTICE 

SEARCH  WARRANTS   OUT 
DETECTIVES   ON  TRAIL 

"New  York  —  Special  Despatch:  L.  Champney 
Googe,  the  treasurer  of  the  Flamsted  Quarries  Co.  —  " 
etc.  etc. 


250  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  men  looked  at  one  another.  There  was  a  mo 
ment  of  sickening  silence ;  not  so  much  as  a  leaf  whirled 
in  the  gutter;  it  was  broken  by  a  great  cheer  from 
the  assembled  hundreds  of  workmen  farther  up  the 
street,  followed  by  a  conglomerate  of  hootings,  cat 
calls,  yells  and  falsetto  hoorays  from  the  fringe  of  small 
boys.  The  faces  of  the  three  men  in  front  of  the  post- 
office  grew  white  at  their  unspoken  thought.  Each 
waited  for  the  other. 

"His  mother—  "  said  Emlie  at  last. 

Elmer  Wiggins'  lips  trembled.  "You  must  tell  her, 
Colonel  —  she  must  n't  hear  it  this  way  — 

"My  God,  how  can  I !"  The  Colonel's  voice  broke, 
but  only  for  a  second,  then  he  braced  himself  to  his 
martyrdom.  "You're  right;  she  mustn't  hear  it 
from  any  one  but  me  —  telephone  up  at  once,  will 
you,  Elmer,  that  I'm  coming  up  to  see  her  on  an  im 
portant  matter?  —  Emlie,  you'll  drive  me  up  in  your 
trap  —  we  can  get  there  before  the  men  have  a  chance 
to  get  home  —  keep  a  watch  on  the  doings  here  in  the 
town,  Elmer,  and  telephone  me  if  there's  any  trouble 
—  there's  Romanzo  coming  now,  I  suppose  he's  got 
word  from  the  office  —  if  you  happen  to  see  Father 
Honore,  tell  him  where  I  am,  he  will  help  — 

He  stepped  into  the  trap  that  had  been  hitched  in 
front  of  the  drug  store,  and  Emlie  took  the  reins.  Elmer 
Wiggins  reached  up  his  hand  to  the  Colonel,  who 
gripped  it  hard. 

"Yes,  Elmer,"  he  said  in  answer  to  the  other's  mute 
question,  "this  is  one  of  the  days  when  a  man,  who  is 
a  man,  may  wish  he'd  never  been  born  — 

They  were  off,  past  the  surging  crowds  who  were 
now  thronging  the  entire  street,  past  The  Bow,  and  over 
the  bridge  on  their  way  to  The  Gore. 


XI 


UN  on  ahead,  girlies,"  said  Aileen  to  the 
twins  who  were  with  her  for  their  annual 
checkerberry  picnic,  "I'll  be  down  in  a  few 
minutes." 

They  were  on  the  edge  of  the  quarry  woods  which 
sheltered  the  Colonel's  outlying  sheep  pastures  and 
protected  from  the  north  wind  the  two  sheepfolds  that 
were  used  for  the  autumn  and  early  spring.  Dulcie 
and  Doosie,  obedient  to  Aileen's  request,  raced  hand 
in  hand  across  the  short-turfed  pastures,  balancing 
their  baskets  of  red  berries. 

The  late  afternoon  sunshine  of  the  last  of  October 
shone  clear  and  warm  upon  the  fading  close-cropped 
herbage  that  covered  the  long  slopes.  The  sheep  were 
gathering  by  flocks  at  the  folds.  The  collie,  busy  and 
important,  was  at  work  with  'Lias  rounding  up  the 
stragglers.  Aileen's  eyes  were  blinded  to  the  transient 
quiet  beauty  of  this  scene,  for  she  was  alive  to  but  one 
point  in  the  landscape  —  the  red  brick  house  with 
granite  trimmings  far  away  across  the  Rothel,  and  the 
man  leaving  the  carriage  which  had  just  stopped  at  the 
front  porch.  She  could  not  distinguish  who  it  was, 
and  this  fact  fostered  conjecture  —  Could  it  be 
Champney  Googe  who  had  come  home  to  help  settle 
the  trouble  in  the  sheds? 

How  she  hated  him  ! — yet  her  heart  gave  a  sudden 
sick  throb  of  expectation.  How  she  hated  herself  for 
her  weakness  ! 


252  Flamsted  Quarries 

"You  look  tired  to  death,  Aileen,"  was  Mrs.  Cau 
kins'  greeting  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  "come  in  and 
rest  yourself  before  supper.  Luigi  was  here  just  now 
and  I've  sent  Dulcie  over  with  him  to  Aurora's  to  get 
the  Colonel ;  I  saw  him  go  in  there  fifteen  minutes  ago, 
and  he's  no  notion  of  time,  not  even  meal-time,  when 
he's  talking  business  with  her.  I  know  it's  business, 
because  Mr.  Emlie  drove  up  with  him;  he's  waiting 
for  him  to  come  out.  Romanzo  has  just  telephoned 
that  he  can't  get  home  for  supper,  but  he'll  be  up  in 
time  to  see  you  home." 

Mrs.  Caukins  was  diplomatic;  she  looked  upon 
herself  as  a  committee  of  one  on  ways  and  means  to 
further  her  son's  interest  so  far  as  Aileen  Armagh  was 
concerned;  but  that  young  lady  was  always  ready 
with  a  check  to  her  mate. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Caukins,  but  I'll  not  trouble  him; 
Tave  is  coming  up  to  drive  me  home  about  eight;  he 
knows  checkerberry  picking  is  n't  easy  work." 

Mrs.  Caukins  was  looking  out  of  the  window  and 
did  not  reply. 

"I  declare,"  she  exclaimed,  "if  there  isn't  Octavius 
this  very  minute  driving  up  in  a  rush  to  Aurora's  too  — 
and  Father  Honore  's  with  him  !  —  Why,  what  —  " 

Without  waiting  to  finish  her  thought,  she  hurried  to 
the  door  to  call  out  to  Dulcie,  who  was  coming  back 
over  the  bridge  towards  the  house,  running  as  fast  as 
she  could: 

"What's  the  matter,  Dulcie?" 

"  Oh,  mother  —  mother  —  '  the  child  panted,  run 
ning  up  the  road,  "  father  wants  you  to  come  over  to 
Mrs.  Googe's  right  off,  as  quick  as  you  can  —  he  says 
not  to  stop  for  anything  —  " 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  mouth  before 


Flamsted  Quarries  253 

Mrs.  Caukins,  without  heeding  Aileen,  was  hurrying 
down  the  road.  The  little  girl,  wholly  out  of  breath, 
threw  herself  down  exhausted  on  the  grass  before  the 
door.  Aileen  and  Doosie  ran  out  to  her. 

"What  is  it,  Dulcie  —  can't  you  tell  me?"  said 
Aileen. 

Between  quickened  breaths  the  child  told  what  she 
knew. 

11  Luigi  stopped  to  speak  to  Mr.  Emlie  —  and  Mr. 
Emlie  said  something  dreadful  for  Flamsted  —  had 
happened  —  and  Luigi  looked  all  of  a  sudden  so  queer 
and  pale,"  —  she  sat  up,  and  in  the  excitement  and 
importance  of  imparting  such  news  forgot  her  over- 
exertion,  — "  and  Mr.  Emlie  said  father  was  telling 
Mrs.  Googe  —  and  he  was  afraid  it  would  kill  her  — 
and  then  father  came  to  the  door  looking  just  like 
Luigi,  all  queer  and  pale,  and  Mr.  Emlie  says,  'How  is 
she?'  and  father  shook  his  head  and  said,  'It's  her 
death  blow,'  then  I  squeezed  Luigi's  hand  to  make 
him  look  at  me,  and  I  asked  him  what  it  was  Mrs. 
Googe's  was  sick  of,  for  I  must  go  and  tell  mother  — 
and  he  looked  at  Mr.  Emlie  and  he  nodded  and  said, 
'It's  town  talk  already  —  it's  in  the  papers.'  And  then 
Luigi  told  me  that  Mr.  Champney  Googe  had  been 
stealing,  Aileen  !  —  and  if  he  got  caught  he  'd  have  to  go 
to  prison  —  then  father  sent  me  over  home  for  mother 
and  told  me  to  run,  and  I've  run  so  —  Oh,  Aileen !  " 

It  was  a  frightened  cry,  and  her  twin  echoed  it. 
While  Aileen  Armagh  was  listening  with  shortened 
breaths  to  the  little  girl,  she  felt  as  if  she  were  experienc 
ing  the  concentrated  emotions  of  a  lifetime;  as  a  result, 
the  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so  powerful  that  it  affected 
her  physically;  her  young  healthy  nerves,  capable  at 
other  times  of  almost  any  tension,  suddenly  played  her 


254  Flamsted  Quarries 

false.  The  effect  upon  her  of  what  she  heard  was  a 
severe  nervous  shock.  She  had  never  fainted  in  her 
life,  nor  had  she  known  the  meaning  of  an  hysterical 
mood;  she  neither  fainted  nor  screamed  now,  but 
began  to  struggle  horribly  for  breath,  for  the  shocked 
heart  began  beating  as  it  would,  sending  the  blood  in 
irregular  spurts  through  the  already  over-charged 
arteries.  From  time  to  time  she  groaned  heavily  as  her 
struggle  continued. 

The  two  children  were  terrified.  Doosie  raced  dis 
tractedly  across  the  pastures  to  get  'Lias,  and  Dulcie 
ran  into  the  house  for  water.  Her  little  hand  was 
trembling  as  she  held  the  glass  to  Aileen's  white  quiver 
ing  lips  that  refused  it. 

By  the  time,  however,  that  'Lias  got  to  the  house, 
the  crisis  was  past;  she  could  smile  at  the  frightened 
children,  and  assure  'Lias  that  she  had  had  simply  a 
short  and  acute  attack  of  indigestion  from  eating  too 
many  checkerberries  over  in  the  woods. 

"It  serves  me  right,"  she  said  smiling  into  the  woe 
begone  little  faces  so  near  to  hers;  "I've  always  heard 
they  are  the  most  indigestible  things  going  —  now 
don't  you  eat  any  more,  girlies,  or  you'll  have  a  spasm 
like  mine.  I'm  all  right, 'Lias;  go  back  to  your  work, 
I'll  just  help  myself  to  a  cup  of  hot  water  from  the  tea 
kettle  and  then  I'll  go  home  with  Tave  —  I  see  him 
coming  for  me  —  I  did  n't  expect  him  now." 

"But,  Aileen,  won't  you  stay  to  supper?"  said  the 
twins  at  one  and  the  same  time;  "we  always  have  you 
to  celebrate  our  checkerberry  picnic." 

"Dear  knows,  I've  celebrated  the  checkerberries 
enough  already,"  she  said  laughing,  —  but  'Lias 
noticed  that  her  lips  were  still  colorless,  — "  and  I 
think,  dearies,  that  it's  no  time  for  us  to  be  celebrat- 


Flamsted  Quarries  255 

ing  any  more  to-day  when  poor  Mrs.  Googe  is  in 
such  trouble." 

"What  's  up?"  said  'Lias. 

The  twins'  eagerness  to  impart  their  knowledge  of 
recent  events  to  'Lias  was  such  that  the  sorrow  of 
parting  was  greatly  mitigated;  moreover,  Aileen  left 
them  with  a  promise  to  come  up  again  soon. 

"I'm  ready,  Tave,"  she  said  as  he  drew  up  at  the 
door.  'Lias  helped  her  in. 

"Come  again  soon,  Aileen  —  you've  promised,"  the 
twins  shouted  after  her. 

She  turned  and  waved  her  hand  to  them.  "I'll 
come,"  she  called  back  in  answer. 

They  drove  in  silence  over  the  Rothel,  past  the  brick 
house  where  Emlie's  trap  was  still  standing,  but  now 
hitched.  Octavius  Buzzby's  face  was  gray;  his  fea 
tures  were  drawn. 

"  Did  you  hear,  Aileen  ?"  he  said,  after  they  had  driven 
on  a  while  and  begun  to  meet  the  quarrymen  returning 
from  Flamsted,  many  of  whom  were  talking  excitedly 
and  gesticulating  freely. 

"Yes  —  Dulcie  told  me  something.  I  don't  know 
how  true  it  is,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"It's  true,"  he  said  grimly,  "and  it'll  kill  his 
mother." 

"I  don't  know  about  that;"  she  spoke  almost  in 
differently;  "you  can  stand  a  good  deal  when  it 
comes  to  the  point." 

Octavius  turned  almost  fiercely  upon  her. 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  he  demanded. 
"You're  neither  wife  nor  mother,  but  you  might  show 
a  little  more  feeling,  being  a  woman.  Do  you  realize 
what  this  thing  means  to  us  —  to  Flamsted  —  to  the 
family?" 


256  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Tave,"  she  turned  her  gray  eyes  full  upon  him,  the 
pupils  were  unnaturally  enlarged,  "I  don't  suppose  I 
do  know  what  it  means  to  all  of  you  —  but  it  makes  me 
sick  to  talk  about  it  —  please  don't  —  I  can't  bear  it  — 
take  me  home  as  quick  as  you  can." 

She  grew  whiter  still. 

"  Ain't  you  well,  Aileen  ?  "  he  asked  in  real  anxiety, 
repenting  of  his  hard  word  to  her. 

"Not  very,  Tave;  the  truth  is  I  ate  too  many  check- 
erberries  and  had  an  attack  of  indigestion  —  I  shall  be 
all  right  soon  —  and  they  sent  over  for  Mrs.  Caukins 
just  at  that  time,  and  when  Dulcie  came  back  she  told 
me  —  it's  awful  —  but  it's  different  with  you;  he  be 
longs  to  you  all  here  and  you've  always  loved  him." 

"Loved  him!"  —  Octavius  Buzzby's  voice  shook 
with  suppressed  emotion  —  "I  should  say  loved  him; 
he's  been  dear  to  me  as  my  own  —  I  thank  God  Louis 
Champney  is  n't  living  to  go  through  this  disgrace  !" 

He  drew  up  in  the  road  to  let  a  gang  of  workmen 
separate  —  he  had  been  driving  the  mare  at  full  speed. 
Both  he  and  Aileen  caught  fragments  of  what  they 
were  saying. 

"It's  damned  hard  on  his  mother  — 

"They  say  there's  a  woman  in  the  case  —  " 

"  Generally  is  with  them  highflyers  — 

"I'll  bet  he'll  make  for  the  old  country,  if  he  can  get 
clear  he'll  — " 

"Europe's  full  of  'em  —  reg'lar  cesspool  they 
say  —  " 

"Any  reward  offered?" 

"The  Company  '11  have  to  fork  over  or  there'll  be 
the  biggest  strike  in  Flamsted  that  the  stone-cutting 
business  has  seen  yet  —  " 

"The  papers  don't  say  what  the  shortage  is  —  " 


Flamsted  Quarries  257 

"What's  Van  Ostend's  daughter's  name,  anybody 
know  ?  —  they  say  he  was  sweet  on  her  —  " 

"She's  a  good  haul,"  a  man  laughed  hoarsely,  in 
sultingly,  "but  she  didn't  bite,  an'  lucky  for  her  she 
did  n't.'' 

"You're  'bout  right  —  them  high  rollers  don't  want 
to  raise  nothing  but  game  cocks  —  no  prison  birds, 
eh?" 

The  men  passed  on,  twenty  or  more.  Octavius 
Buzzby,  and  the  one  who  in  the  last  hour  had  left  her 
girlhood  behind  her,  drove  homewards  in  silence.  Her 
eyes  were  lowered ;  her  white  cheeks  burned  again,  but 
with  shame  at  what  she  was  obliged  to  hear. 


XII 

THE  strike  was  averted;  the  men  were  paid  in 
full  on  the  Wednesday  following  that  Satur 
day  the  events  of  which  brought  for  a  time 
Flamsted,  its  families,  and  its  great  industry  into  the 
garish  light  of  undesirable  publicity.  In  the  sheds  and 
the  quarries  the  routine  work  went  on  as  usual,  but 
speculation  was  rife  as  to  the  outcome  of  the  search  for 
the  missing  treasurer.  A  considerable  amount  of 
money  was  put  up  by  the  sporting  element  among  the 
workmen,  that  the  capture  would  take  place  within 
three  weeks.  Meanwhile,  the  daily  papers  furnished 
pabulum  for  the  general  curiosity  and  kept  the  inter 
est  as  to  the  outcome  on  the  increase.  Some  reports 
had  it  that  Champney  Googe  was  already  in  Europe; 
others  that  he  had  been  seen  in  one  of  the  Central 
American  capitals.  Among  those  who  knew  him  best, 
it  was  feared  he  was  already  in  hiding  in  his  native 
State ;  but  beyond  their  immediate  circle  no  suspicion 
of  this  got  abroad. 

Among  the  native  Flamstedites,  who  had  known  and 
loved  Champney  from  a  child,  there  was  at  first  a  feel 
ing  of  consternation  mingled  with  shame  of  the  dis 
grace  to  his  native  town.  They  felt  that  Champney 
had  played  false  to  his  two  names,  and  through  the 
honored  names  of  Googe  and  Champney  he  had 
brought  disgrace  upon  all  connections,  whether  by  ties 
of  blood  or  marriage.  To  him  they  had  looked  to  be 
a  leader  in  the  new  Flamsted  that  was  taking  its  place 
in  the  world's  work.  For  a  few  days  it  seemed  as  if 


Flamsted  Quarries  259 

the  keystone  of  the  arch  of  their  ambition  and  pride 
had  fallen  and  general  ruin  threatened.  Then,  after 
the  first  week  passed  without  news  as  to  his  where 
abouts,  there  was  bewilderment,  followed  on  the  second 
Monday  by  despair  deepened  by  a  suspense  that  was 
becoming  almost  unbearable. 

It  was  a  matter  of  surprise  to  many  to  find  the  work 
in  sheds  and  quarries  proceeding  with  its  accustomed 
regularity;  to  find  that  to  the  new  comers  in  Flamsted 
the  affair  was  an  impersonal  one,  that  Champney 
Googe  held  no  place  among  the  workmen;  that  his 
absconding  meant  to  them  simply  another  one  of  the 
"high  rollers"  fleeing  from  his  deserts.  Little  by  little, 
during  that  first  week,  the  truth  found  its  way  home  to 
each  man  and  woman  personally  interested  in  this 
erring  son  of  Flamsted's  old  families,  that  a  man  is 
but  one  working  unit  among  millions,  and  that  unit 
counts  in  a  community  only  when  its  work  is  construc 
tive  in  the  communal  good. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  bank  directors  the  telling  fact 
was  disclosed  that  all  of  Mrs.  Googe's  funds  —  the 
purchase  money  of  the  quarry  lands  —  had  been  with 
drawn  nine  months  previous;  but  this,  they  ascer 
tained  later,  had  been  done  with  her  full  consent  and 
knowledge. 

Romanzo  was  summoned  with  the  Company's  books 
to  the  New  York  office.  The  Colonel  seemed  to  his 
friends  to  have  aged  ten  years  in  seven  days.  He  wore 
the  look  of  a  man  haunted  by  the  premonition  of  some 
impending  catastrophe.  But  he  confided  his  trouble 
to  no  one,  not  even  to  his  wife.  Aurora  Googe's  friends 
suffered  with  her  and  for  her;  they  began,  at  last,  to 
fear  for  her  reason  if  some  definite  word  should  not 
soon  be  forthcoming. 


260  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  tension  in  the  Champ-au-Haut  household  be 
came  almost  intolerable  as  the  days  passed  without 
any  satisfaction  as  to  the  fugitive's  whereabouts.  After 
the  first  shock,  and  some  unpleasant  recrimination  on 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Champney,  this  tension  showed  itself 
by  silently  ignoring  the  recent  family  event.  Mrs. 
Champney  found  plausible  excuse  in  the  state  of  her 
health  to  see  no  one.  Octavius  Buzzby  attended  to 
his  daily  duties  with  the  face  of  a  man  who  has  come 
through  a  severe  sickness;  Hannah  complained  that 
"he  did  n't  eat  enough  to  keep  a  cat  alive."  His  lack 
of  appetite  was  an  accompaniment  to  sleepless,  thought- 
racked  nights. 

Aileen  Armagh  said  nothing  —  what  could  she  say  ? 
—  but  sickened  at  her  own  thoughts.  She  made  ex 
cuse  to  be  on  the  street,  at  the  station,  in  The  Gore  at 
the  Caukinses',  with  Joel  Quimber  and  Elmer  Wiggins, 
as  well  as  among  the  quarrymen's  families,  whose  chil 
dren  she  taught  in  an  afternoon  singing  class,  in  the 
hope  of  hearing  some  enlightening  word ;  of  learning 
something  definite  in  regard  to  the  probabilities  of 
escape ;  of  getting  some  inkling  of  the  whole  truth.  She 
gathered  a  little  here,  a  little  there;  she  put  two  and 
two  together,  and  from  what  she  heard  as  a  matter  of 
speculation,  and  from  what  she  knew  to  be  true  through 
Mrs.  Caukins  via  Romanzo  in  New  York,  she  found 
that  Champney  Googe  had  sacrificed  his  honor,  his 
mother,  his  friends,  and  the  good  name  of  his  native 
town  for  the  unlawful  love  of  gain.  She  was  obliged  to 
accept  this  fact,  and  its  acceptance  completed  the  work 
of  destruction  that  the  revelation  of  Champney  Googe's 
unfaith,  through  the  declaration  of  a  passion  that  led 
to  no  legitimate  consummation  in  marriage,  had 
wrought  in  her  young  buoyant  spirit.  She  was  broken 


Flamsted  Quarries  261 

beneath  the  sudden  cumulative  and  overwhelming 
knowledge  of  evil;  her  youth  found  no  abiding-place 
either  for  heart  or  soul.  To  Father  Honore  she  could 
not  go  —  not  yet ! 

On  the  afternoon  of  Monday  week,  a  telegram  came 
for  the  Colonel.  He  opened  it  in  the  post  office.  Octa- 
vius  coming  in  at  the  same  time  for  his  first  mail  noticed 
at  once  the  change  in  his  face  —  he  looked  stricken. 

"What  is  it,  Colonel?"  he  asked  anxiously,  joining 
him. 

For  answer  Milton  Caukins  held  out  the  telegram. 
It  was  from  the  State  authorities ;  its  purport  that  the 
Colonel  was  to  form  a  posse  and  be  prepared  to  aid,  to 
the  extent  of  his  powers,  the  New  York  detectives  who 
were  coming  on  the  early  evening  train.  The  fugitive 
from  justice  had  left  New  York  and  been  traced  to 
Hallsport. 

"I've  had  a  premonition  of  this  —  it's  the  last 
stroke,  Tave  —  here,  in  his  home  —  among  us  —  and 
his  mother  !  —  and,  in  duty  bound,  I,  of  all  others,  must 
be  the  man  to  finish  the  ugly  job  — 

Octavius  Buzzby's  face  worked  strangely.  "It's 
tough  for  you,  Colonel,  but  I  guess  a  Maine  man  knows 
his  whole  duty  —  only,  for  God's  sake,  don't  ask  me !" 
It  was  a  groan  rather  than  an  ejaculation.  The  two 
continued  to  talk  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  shall  call  for  volunteers  and  then  get  them  sworn 
in  —  it  means  stiff  work  for  to-night.  We'll  keep  this 
from  Aurora,  Tave;  she  mustn't  know  this." 

"Yes,  if  we  can.  Are  you  going  to  ask  any  of  our 
own  folks  to  volunteer,  Milton?"  In  times  of  great 
stress  and  sorrow  his  townspeople  called  the  Colonel  by 
his  Christian  name. 


262  Flamsted  Quarries 

"No;  I'm  going  to  ask  some  of  the  men  who  don't 
know  him  well  —  some  of  the  foreigners;  Poggi's  one. 
He'll  know  some  others  up  in  The  Gore.  And  I  don't 
believe,  Tave,  there's  one  of  our  own  would  volunteer, 
do  you?" 

"No,  I  don't.  We  can't  go  that  far;  it  would  be  like 
cutting  our  own  throats." 

"  You  're  right,  Tave  —  that 's  the  way  I  feel ;  but  "  - 
he  squared  his  shoulders  — "it's  got  to  be  done  and 
the  sooner  it 's  over  the  better  for  us  all  —  but,  Tave,  I 
hope  to  God  he'll  keep  out  of  our  way !" 

"Amen,"  said  Octavius  Buzzby. 

The  two  stood  together  in  the  office  a  moment  longer 
in  gloomy  silence,  then  they  went  out  into  the  street. 

"Well,  I  must  get  to  work,"  said  the  Colonel  finally, 
"the  time's  scant.  I'll  telephone  my  wife  first.  We 
can't  keep  this  to  ourselves  long ;  everybody,  from  the 
quarrymen  to  the  station  master,  will  be  keen  on  the 
scent." 

"I'm  glad  no  reward  was  offered,"  said  Octavius. 

" So  am  I."  The  Colonel  spoke  emphatically.  "The 
roughscuff  won't  volunteer  without  that,  and  I  shall 
be  reasonably  certain  of  some  good  men  —  God  !  and 
I  'm  saying  this  of  Champney  Googe  —  it  makes  me 
sick ;  who  'd  have  thought  it  —  who  'd  have  thought 
it  —  " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  stepped  into  the  telephone 
booth.  Octavius  waited  for  him. 

"I've  warned  Mrs.  Caukins,"  he  said  when  he  came 
out,  "and  told  her  how  things  stand ;  that  I'd  try  to  get 
Poggi,  and  that  I  sha'n't  be  at  home  to-night.  She  says 
tell  Aileen  to  tell  Mrs.  Champney  she  will  esteem  it  a 
great  favor  if  she  will  let  her  come  up  to-night ;  she  has 
one  of  her  nervous  headaches  and  does  n't  want  to  be 


Flamsted  Quarries  263 

alone  with  the  children  and  'Lias.  You  could  take  her 
up,  could  n't  you?" 

"I  guess  she  can  come,  and  I'll  take  her  up  'fore 
supper;  I  don't  want  to  be  gone  after  dark,"  he  added 
with  meaning  emphasis. 

"I  understand,  Tave;  I'm  going  over  to  Poggi's 
now." 

The  two  parted  with  a  hand-clasp  that  spoke  more 
than  any  words. 


XIII 

BOUT  four,  Octavius  drove  Aileen  up  to  the 
Colonel's.  He  said  nothing  to  her  of  the  com 
ing  crucial  night,  but  Aileen  had  her  thoughts. 
The  Colonel's  absence  from  home,  but  not  from  town, 
coupled  with  yesterday's  New  York  despatch  which 
said  that  there  was  no  trace  of  the  guilty  man  in  New 
York,  and  affirmed  on  good  authority  that  the  state 
ment  that  he  had  not  left  the  country  was  true,  con 
vinced  her  that  something  unforeseen  was  expected  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  Flamsted.  But  he  would 
never  attempt  to  come  here !  —  She  shivered  at  the 
thought.  Octavius,  noticing  this  movement,  remarked 
that  he  thought  there  was  going  to  be  a  black  frost. 
Aileen  maintained  that  the  rising  wind  and  the  want  of 
a  moon  would  keep  it  off. 

Although  Octavius  was  inclined  to  take  exception  to 
the  feminine  statement  that  the  moon,  or  the  want  of 
it,  had  an  effect  on  frost,  nevertheless  this  apparently 
innocent  remark  on  Aileen's  part  recalled  to  him  the 
fact  that  the  night  was  moonless  —  he  wondered  if 
the  Colonel  had  thought  of  this  —  and  he  hoped  with 
all  his  soul  that  it  would  prove  to  be  starless  as  well. 
"  Champney  knows  the  Maine  woods  —  knows  'em 
from  the  Bay  to  the  head  of  Moosehead  as  well  as  an 
Oldtown  Indian,  yes  and  beyond."  So  he  comforted 
himself  in  thought. 

Mrs.  Caukins  met  them  with  effusion. 

"I  declare,  Aileen,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have 
done  if  you  couldn't  have  come  up;  I'm  all  of  a- 


Flamsted  Quarries  265 

tremble  now  and  I've  got  such  a  nervous  headache 
from  all  I've  been  through,  and  all  I've  got  to,  that  I 
can't  see  straight  out  of  my  eyes.  —  Won't  you  stop  to 
supper,  Tave?" 

"I  can't  to-night,  Elvira,  I  —  " 

"I'd  no  business  to  ask  you,  I  know,"  she  said,  in 
terrupting  him;  "I  might  have  known  you'd  want  to 
be  on  hand  for  any  new  developments.  I  don't  know 
how  we're  going  to  live  through  it  up  here;  you  don't 
feel  it  so  much  down  in  the  town  —  I  don't  believe  I 
could  go  through  it  without  Aileen  up  here  with  me, 
for  the  twins  are  n't  old  enough  to  depend  on  or  to  be 
told  everything;  they're  no  company  at  such  times, 
and  of  course  I  sha'n't  tell  them,  they  would  n't  sleep 
a  wink;  I  miss  my  boys  dreadfully  —  " 

"Tell  them  what?  What  do  you  mean  by  'to 
night'?"  Aileen  demanded,  a  sudden  sharpness  in 
her  voice. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  —  She  turned  to  Octa- 
vius,  "  Haven't  you  told  her?  " 

Her  appeal  fell  on  departing  and  intentionally  deaf 
ears;  for  Octavius,  upon  hearing  Aileen's  sudden  and 
amazed  question,  abruptly  bade  them  good-night, 
spoke  to  the  mare  and  was  off  at  a  rapid  pace  before 
Mrs.  Caukins  comprehended  that  the  telling  of  the 
latest  development  was  left  to  her. 

She  set  about  it  quickly  enough,  and  what  with  her 
nervousness,  her  sympathy  for  that  mother  across  the 
Rothel,  her  anxiety  for  the  Colonel,  her  fear  of  the 
trial  to  which  his  powers  of  endurance  were  about  to 
be  put,  and  the  description  of  his  silent  suffering  during 
the  last  week,  she  failed  to  notice  that  Aileen  said  noth 
ing.  The  girl  busied  herself  with  setting  the  table  and 
preparing  tea,  Mrs.  Caukins,  meanwhile,  rocking  com- 


266  Flamsted  Quarries 

fortably  in  her  chair  and  easing  her  heart  of  its  heavy 
burden  by  continual  drippings  of  talk  after  the  main 
flow  of  her  tale  was  exhausted. 

Presently,  just  after  sunset,  the  twins  came  rushing 
in.  Evidently  they  were  full  of  secrets  —  they  were 
always  a  close  corporation  of  two  —  and  their  inane 
giggles  and  breathless  suppression  of  what  they  were 
obviously  longing  to  impart  to  their  mother  and  Aileen, 
told  on  Mrs.  Caukins'  already  much  worn  nerves. 

"I  wish  you  would  n't  stay  out  so  long  after  sundown, 
children,  you  worry  me  to  death.  I  don't  say  but  the 
quarries  are  safe  enough,  but  I  do  say  you  never  can 
tell  who's  round  after  dusk,  and  growing  girls  like  you 
belong  at  home." 

She  spoke  fretfully.  The  twins  exchanged  meaning 
glances  that  were  lost  on  their  mother,  who  was  used 
to  their  ways,  but  not  on  Aileen. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  this  time,  Dulcie?"  she 
asked  rather  indifferently.  Her  short  teaching  expe 
rience  had  shown  her  that  the  only  way  to  gain  chil 
dren's  confidence  is  not  to  display  too  great  a  curiosity 
in  regard  to  their  comings  and  goings,  their  doings  and 
undoings.  "Tave  and  I  did  n't  see  you  anywhere  when 
we  drove  up." 

The  twins  looked  at  each  other  and  screwed  their 
lips  into  a  violently  repressive  contortion. 

"We've  been  over  to  the  sheepfolds  with  'Lias." 

"Why,  'Lias  has  been  out  in  the  barn  for  the  last 
half  hour  —  wrhat  were  you  doing  over  there,  I'd  like 
to  know?"  Their  mother  spoke  sharply,  for  untruth 
she  would  not  tolerate. 

"We  did  stay  with  'Lias  till  he  got  through,  then  we 
played  ranchmen  and  made  believe  round  up  the  cattle 
the  way  the  boys  wrote  us  they  do."  Two  of  their 


Flamsted  Quarries  267 

brothers  were  in  the  West  trying  their  fortune  on  a 
ranch  and  incidentally  "dovetailing  into  the  home 
business,"  as  the  Colonel  defined  their  united  efforts 
along  the  line  of  mutton  raising. 

"Well,  I  never!"  their  mother  ejaculated;  "I  sup 
pose  now  you'll  be  making  believe  you're  everything 
the  other  boys  are  going  to  be." 

The  little  girls  giggled  and  nodded  emphatically. 

"Well,  Aileen,"  she  said  as  she  took  her  seat  at  the 
table,  "times  have  changed  since  I  was  a  girl,  and  that 
is  n't  so  very  long  ago.  Then  we  used  to  content  our 
selves  with  sewing,  and  housework,  and  reading  all 
the  books  in  the  Sunday  school  library,  and  making 
our  own  clothes,  and  enjoying  ourselves  as  much  as 
anybody  nowadays  for  all  I  see,  what  with  our  picnics 
and  excursions  down  the  Bay  and  the  clam  bakes  and 
winter  lecture  course  and  the  young  folks  'Circle'  and 
two  or  three  dances  to  help  out  —  and  now  here  are 
my  girls  that  can't  be  satisfied  to  sit  down  and  hem 
good  crash  towels  for  their  mother,  but  must  turn 
themselves  into  boys,  and  play  ranchmen  and  baseball 
and  hockey  on  the  ice,  and  Wild  West  shows  with  the 
dogs  and  the  pony  —  and  even  riding  him  a-straddle  — 
and  want  to  go  to  college  just  because  their  two  brothers 
are  going,  and,  for  all  I  know,  join  a  fraternity  and 
have  secrets  from  their  own  mother  and  a  football 
team!"  She  paused  long  enough  to  help  the  twins 
bountifully. 

"Sometimes  I  think  it's  their  being  brought  up  with 
so  many  boys,  and  then  again  I'm  convinced  it's  the 
times,  for  all  girls  seem  to  have  caught  the  male  fever. 
What  with  divided  skirts,  and  no  petticoats,  and  racing 
and  running  and  tumbling  in  basket  ball,  and  rowing 
races,  and  entering  for  prize  championships  in  golf  and 


268  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  dear  knows  what,  it'll  be  lucky  if  a  mother  of  the 
next  generation  can  tell  whether  she's  horned  girls  or 
boys  by  the  time  her  children  are  ten  years  old.  The 
land  knows  it's  hard  enough  for  a  married  woman  to 
try  to  keep  up  with  one  man  in  a  few  things,  but  when 
it  comes  to  a  lot  of  old  maids  and  unmarried  girls  try 
ing  to  catch  up  all  the  time  with  the  men  in  everything, 
and  catch  on  too,  I  must  say  /,  for  one,  draw  the  line." 

Aileen  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  diatribe  on  "  the 
times."  The  twins  laughed  outright;  they  were  used 
to  their  mother  by  this  time,  and  patronized  her  in  a 
loving  way. 

"We  weren't  there  all  the  time,"  Doosie  said 
meaningly,  and  Dulcie  added  her  little  word,  which 
she  intended  should  tantalize  her  mother  and  Aileen  to 
the  extent  that  many  pertinent  questions  should  be 
forthcoming,  and  the  news  they  were  burning  to  impart 
would,  to  all  appearance,  be  dragged  out  of  them  —  a 
process  in  which  the  twins  revelled. 

"We  met  Luigi  on  the  road  near  the  bridge." 

"What  do  you  suppose  Luigi 's  doing  up  here  at  this 
time,  I'd  like  to  know,"  said  Mrs.  Caukins,  turning  to 
Aileen  and  ignoring  the  children. 

"  He  come  up  on  an  errand  to  see  some  of  the  quarry- 
men,"  piped  up  both  the  girls  at  the  same  time. 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  said  their  mother  indifferently; 
then,  much  to  the  twins'  chagrin,  she  suddenly  changed 
the  subject.  "I  want  you  to  take  the  glass  of  wine  jell 
on  the  second  shelf  in  the  pantry  over  to  Mrs.  Googe's 
after  you  finish  your  supper  —  you  can  leave  it  with 
the  girl  and  tell  her  not  to  say  anything  to  Mrs.  Googe 
about  it,  but  just  put  some  in  a  saucer  and  give  it  to 
her  with  her  supper.  Maybe  it'll  tempt  her  to  taste  it, 
poor  soul !" 


Flamsted  Quarries  269 

The  twins  sat  up  very  straight  on  their  chairs.  A 
look  of  consternation  came  into  their  faces. 

"We  don't  want  to  go,"  murmured  Dulcie. 

"Don't  want  to  go!"  their  mother  exclaimed;  de 
cided  irritation  was  audible  in  her  voice.  "For  pity's 
sake,  what  is  the  matter  now,  that  you  can't  run  on  an 
errand  for  me  just  over  the  bridge,  and  here  you've 
been  prowling  about  in  the  dusk  for  the  last  hour 
around  those  lonesome  sheepfolds  and  'Lias  nowheres 
near  —  I  declare,  I  could  understand  my  six  boys  even 
if  they  were  terrors  when  they  were  little.  You  could 
always  count  on  their  being  somewheres  anyway,  even 
if  't  was  on  the  top  of  freight  cars  at  The  Corners  or  at 
the  bottom  of  the  pond  diving  for  pebbles  that  they 
brought  up  between  their  lips  and  run  the  risk  of  chok 
ing  besides  drowning;  and  they  did  think  the  same 
thoughts  for  at  least  twenty-four  hours  on  a  stretch, 
when  they  were  set  on  having  things  —  but  when  it 
come  to  my  having  two  girls,  and  I  forty  at  the  time,  I 
give  it  up  !  They  don't  know  their  own  minds  from  one 
six  minutes  to  the  next.  —  Why  don't  you  want  to  go  ?" 
she  demanded,  coming  at  last  to  the  point.  Aileen  was 
listening  in  amused  silence. 

"  'Coz  we  got  scared  —  awful  scared,"  said  Dulcie 
under  her  breath. 

"  Scared  most  to  death,"  Doosie  added  solemnly. 

Both  Mrs.  Caukins  and  Aileen  saw  at  once  that  the 
children  were  in  earnest. 

"You  look  scared  !"  said  Mrs.  Caukins  with  wither 
ing  scorn;  "you've  eaten  a  good  supper  if  you  were 
'scared'  as  you  say.  — What  scared  you?" 

The  twins  looked  down  into  their  plates,  the  generally 
cleared-up  appearance  of  which  seemed  fully  to  warrant 
their  mother's  sarcasm. 


270  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Luigi  told  us  not  to  tell,"  said  Dulcie  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Luigi  told  you  not  to  tell!"  echoed  their  mother. 
"I'd  like  to  know  what  right  Luigi  Poggi  has  to  tell  my 
children  not  to  tell  their  mother  anything  and  every 
thing!"  She  spoke  with  waxing  excitement;  every 
motherly  pin-feather  was  erect. 

"He  was  'fraid  it  would  scare  you,"  ventured  Doosie. 

"Scare  me!  He  must  have  a  pretty  poor  opinion  of 
a  woman  that  can  raise  six  boys  of  her  own  and  then  be 
'scared'  at  what  two  snips  of  girls  can  tell  her.  You'll 
tell  me  now,  this  very  minute,  what  scared  you  —  this 
all  comes  of  your  being  away  from  the  house  so  far  and 
so  late  —  and  I  won't  have  it." 

"We  saw  a  bear  — 

"  A  big  one  — " 

"He  was  crawling  on  all  fours  —  " 

"  Back  of  the  sheepfold  wall  —  " 

"He  scrooched  down  as  if  he  was  nosing  for  some 
thing—" 

"Just  where  the  trees  are  so  thick  you  can't  see  into 
the  woods  — 

"And  we  jumped  over  the  wall  and  right  down  into 
the  sheep,  and  they  made  an  awful  fuss  they  were  so 
scared  too,  huddling  and  rushing  round  to  get  out  - 

"Then  we  found  the  gate  —  " 

"But  I  heard  him—  '  Dulcie's  eyes  were  very  big 
and  bright  with  remembered  terror. 

"And  then  we  climbed  over  the  gate— -'Lias  had 
locked  it  —  and  run  home  lickety-split  and  most  run 
into  Luigi  at  the  bridge  —  " 

"'Coz  we  come  down  the  road  after  we  got  through 
the  last  pasture  — 

"Oh,  he  was  so  big!"     Doosie  shuddered  as  her 


Flamsted  Quarries  271 

imagination  began  to  work  more  vigorously  with  the 
recital  —  "  bigger  'n  a  man  —  " 

"What  nonsense." 

The  twins  had  been  telling  all  this  at  the  same  time, 
and  their  mother's  common  sense  and  downright  ex 
clamation  brought  them  to  a  full  stop.  They  looked 
crestfallen. 

"You  needn't  tell  me  there's  a  bear  between  here 
and  Moosehead  —  I  know  better.  Did  you  tell  Luigi 
all  this?"  she  questioned  sharply. 

The  two  nodded  affirmatively. 

"And  he  told  you  not  to  tell  me?" 

Another  nod. 

"Did  he  say  anything  more?" 

"He  said  he'd  go  up  and  see." 

"Hm  — m  — " 

Mrs.  Caukins  turned  a  rather  white  face  to  Aileen; 
the  two,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  read  there  a 
common  fear. 

"Perhaps  you  '11  take  the  jelly  over  for  me,  Aileen; 
I'll  just  step  to  the  back  door  and  holler  to  'Lias  to 
bring  in  the  collie  and  the  hound  —  't  is  n't  always 
safe  to  let  the  dogs  out  after  dark  if  there  should  happen 
to  be  anything  stirring  in  the  quarry  woods." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Aileen.  She  went  into  the  pantry  to 
get  the  glass  of  jelly. 

"We'll  go  with  you,  we  won't  mind  a  bit  with  you 
or  Luigi,"  chorussed  the  twins. 

"You  don't  go  one  step,"  said  their  mother,  entering 
at  that  moment  from  the  kitchen,  and  followed  by 
the  two  dogs;  "you'll  stay  right  where  you  are,  and 
what's  more,  you'll  both  go  to  bed  early  to  make  you 
remember  that  I  mean  what  I  say  about  your  being  out 
so  long  another  time  after  sundown  —  no  good  cornes 
of  it,"  she  muttered. 


272  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  twins  knew  by  the  tone  of  her  voice  that  there 
was  no  further  appeal  to  be  made. 

"You  can  wash  up  the  dishes  while  Aileen's  gone; 
my  head  is  so  bad.  —  Don't  be  gone  too  long,  Aileen," 
she  said,  going  to  the  door  with  her. 

"  I  sha'n't  stay  unless  I  can  do  something  —  but 
I'll  stop  a  little  while  with  Ellen,  poor  girl;  she  must 
be  tired  of  all  this  excitement,  sitting  there  alone  so 
much  as  she  has  this  last  week." 

"Of  course,  but  Aurora  won't  see  you;  it's  as  much 
as  ever  I  can  do  to  get  a  look  at  her,  and  as  to  speaking 
a  word  of  comfort,  it's  out  of  the  question.  —  Why!" 
she  exclaimed,  looking  out  into  the  dusk  that  was  set 
tling  into  night,  "they  never  light  the  quarries  so  early, 
not  with  all  the  arc-lights,  I  wonder  —  Oh,  Aileen!" 
she  cried,  as  the  meaning  of  the  great  illumination  in 
The  Gore  dawned  upon  her. 

The  girl  did  not  answer.  She  ran  down  the  road  to 
the  bridge  with  every  nerve  in  her  strained  to  its  utmost. 


XIV 

SHE  hurried  over  to  the  brick  house  across  the 
Rothel;  rapped  at  the  kitchen  door  and,  upon 
the  girl's  opening  it,  gave  the  jelly  to  her  with 
Mrs.  Caukins'  message.  She  assured  Ellen,  who 
begged  her  to  come  in,  that  she  would  run  over  if 
possible  a  little  later  in  the  evening.  A  low  whine  and 
prolonged  snuffing  made  themselves  audible  while  the 
two  talked  together  in  low  tones  at  the  door.  They 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  vicinity  of  the  dining-room 
door. 

"Where  's  Rag?"  said  Aileen,  listening  intently  to 
the  muffled  sounds. 

"  I  shut  him  up  in  the  dining-room  closet  when  I  see 
you  come  up  the  walk;  he  goes  just  wild  to  get  with 
you  any  chance  he  can,  and  Mrs.  Googe  told  me  she 
wanted  to  keep  him  round  the  house  nights." 

"Then  be  careful  he  doesn't  get  out  to-night  — 
supposing  you  chain  him  up  just  for  once." 

"Oh,  I  could  n't  do  that;  Mrs.  Googe  would  n't  let 
me;  but  I'll  see  he  does  n't  follow  you.  I  do  wish  you 
would  come  in  —  it's  so  lonesome,"  she  said  again 
wistfully. 

"I  can't  now,  Ellen;  but  if  I  can  get  away  after 
eight,  I  may  run  over  and  sit  with  you  a  while.  I'm 
staying  with  Mrs.  Caukins  because  the  Colonel  is 
away  to-night." 

"So  I  heard;  'Lias  told  me  just  now  on  his  way 
down  to  the  village.  He  said  he  would  n't  be  gone 


274  Flamsted  Quarries 

long,  for  the  Colonel  was  n't  to  home.  —  I  wonder  what 
they  've  turned  on  all  the  lights  for?"  she  said,  craning 
her  neck  to  look  farther  up  the  road. 

Aileen  made  no  reply.  She  cautioned  her  again  to 
keep  Rag  at  home.  A  series  of  muffled  but  agonized 
yelps  followed  her  down  the  walk. 

She  stood  still  in  the  road  and  looked  about  her. 
Everywhere  the  great  quarry  arc-lights  were  sending 
their  searching  rays  out  upon  the  quarries  and  their 
approaches. 

"What  shall  I  do  — oh,  what  sJiall  I  do!"  was  her 
hopeless  unuttered  cry. 

It  seemed  to  Aileen  Armagh,  standing  there  in  the 
road  at  the  entrance  to  the  bridge,  as  if  a  powerful  X- 
ray  were  being  directed  at  that  moment  upon  her  whole 
life  so  far  as  she  remembered  it;  and  not  only  upon 
that,  but  upon  her  heart  and  soul  —  her  thoughts,  de 
sires,  her  secret  agony;  as  if  the  ray,  in  penetrating 
her  body  and  soul,  were  laying  bare  her  secret  to  the 
night :  —  she  still  loved  him. 

"Oh,  what  shall  I  do  —  what  sliall  I  do!"  was  the 
continual  inner  cry. 

Life  was  showing  itself  to  her  in  this  experience,  as 
seen  through  the  lens  of  a  quickened  imagination,  in 
all  its  hideousness.  Never  had  she  experienced  such 
a  sense  of  loneliness.  Never  had  she  realized  so  forcibly 
that  she  was  without  father  and  mother,  without  kin  in 
a  foreign  country,  without  a  true  home  and  abiding- 
place.  Never  had  it  been  brought  home  to  her  with 
such  keen  pain  that  she  was,  in  truth,  a  waif  in  this 
great  world;  that  the  one  solid  support  for  her  in  this 
world,  her  affections,  had  been  ruthlessly  cut  away 
from  under  her  by  the  hand  of  the  man  she  had  loved 
with  all  the  freshness  and  joy  of  her  young  loving  heart. 


Flamsted  Quarries  275 

He  had  been  all  the  more  to  her  because  she  was  alone ; 
the  day  dreams  all  the  brighter  because  she  believed  he 
was  the  one  to  realize  them  for  her  —  and  now ! 

She  walked  on  slowly. 

"What  shall  I  do  —  what  shall  I  do!"  was  her  in 
ward  cry,  repeated  at  intervals.  She  crossed  the  bridge. 
All  was  chaotic  in  her  thoughts.  She  had  supposed, 
during  the  last  two  months,  that  all  her  love  was  turned 
to  hate,  —  she  hoped  it  was,  for  it  would  help  her  to 
bear,  —  that  all  her  feeling  for  him,  whom  she  knew 
she  ought  to  despise,  was  dead.  Why,  then,  if  it  were 
dead,  she  asked  herself  now,  had  she  spoken  so  vehe 
mently  to  Luigi  ?  And  Luigi  —  where  was  he  —  what 
was  he  doing? 

What  was  it  produced  that  nervous  shock  when  she 
learned  the  last  truth  from  Dulcie  Caukins?  Was  it 
her  shame  at  his  dishonor  ?  No  —  she  knew  by  the 
light  of  the  X-ray  piercing  her  soul  that  the  thought  of 
his  imprisonment  meant  absence  from  her;  after  all 
that  had  occurred,  she  was  obliged  to  confess  that  she 
was  still  longing  for  his  presence.  She  hated  herself 
for  this  confession.  —  Where  was  he  now  ? 

She  looked  up  the  road  towards  the  quarry  woods  — 
Thank  God,  those,  at  least,  were  dark !  Oh,  if  she  but 
dared  to  go!  dared  to  penetrate  them;  to  call  to  him 
that  the  hours  of  his  freedom  were  numbered ;  to  help  — 
someway,  somehow !  A  sudden  thought,  overpower 
ing  in  its  intimation  of  possibilities,  stopped  her  short 
in  the  road  just  a  little  way  beyond  the  Colonel's;  but 
before  she  could  formulate  it  sufficiently  to  follow  it 
up  with  action,  before  she  had  time  to  realize  the  sensa 
tion  of  returning  courage,  she  was  aware  of  the  sound 
of  running  feet  on  the  road  above  her.  On  a  slight  rise 
of  ground  the  figure  of  a  man  showed  for  a  moment 


276  Flamsted  Quarries 

against  the  clear  early  dark  of  the  October  night;  he 
was  running  at  full  speed. 

Could  it  be  —  ? 

She  braced  herself  to  the  shock  —  he  was  rapidly 
nearing  her  —  a  powerful  ray  from  an  arc-light  shot 
across  his  path  —  fell  full  upon  his  hatless  head  — 

"You!  —  Luigi!"  she  cried  and  darted  forward  to 
meet  him. 

He  thrust  out  his  arm  to  brush  her  aside,  never 
slackening  his  pace;  but  she  caught  at  it,  and,  clasping 
it  with  both  hands,  hung  upon  it  her  full  weight,  letting 
him  drag  her  on  with  him  a  few  feet. 

"Stop,  Luigi  Poggi !  —  Stop,  I  tell  you,  or  I'll 
scream  for  help  —  stop,  I  say !" 

He  was  obliged  to  slacken  his  speed  in  order  not  to 
hurt  her.  He  tried  to  shake  her  off,  untwist  her  hands ; 
she  clung  to  him  like  a  leech.  Then  he  stopped  short, 
panting.  She  could  see  the  sweat  dropping  from  his 
forehead ;  his  teeth  began  to  chatter.  She  still  held  his 
arm  tightly  with  both  hands. 

"Let  me  go—  he  said,  catching  his  breath 
spasmodically. 

"Not  till  you  tell  me  where  you've  been  —  what 
you've  been  doing  —  tell  me." 

"  Doing  —  "    He  brought  out  the  word  with  difficulty. 

"Yes,  doing,  don't  you  hear?"  She  shook  his  arm 
violently  in  her  anxious  terror. 

"I  don't  know  —  "  the  words  were  a  long  groan. 

"Where  have  you  been  then?  —  quick,  tell  me  —  " 

He  began  to  shake  with  a  hard  nervous  chill. 

"  With  him  —  over  in  the  quarry  woods  —  I  tried  to 
take  him  —  he  fought  me  —  "  The  chill  shook  him 
till  he  could  scarcely  stand. 

She  dropped  his  arm;    drew  away  from  him  as  if 


Flamsted  Quarries  277 

touching  were  contamination;  then  her  eyes,  dilating 
with  a  still  greater  horror,  fixed  themselves  on  the 
bosom  of  his  shirt  —  there  was  a  stain  — 

"  Have  you  killed  him  —  "  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

The  answer  came  through  the  clattering  teeth : 

"I  —  I  don't  know  —  you  said  —  you  said  you  — 
never  wanted  to  see  him  again  —  " 

Luigi  found  himself  speaking  the  last  words  to  the 
empty  air;  he  was  alone,  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  in 
the  full  glare  of  an  electric  light.  He  was  conscious  of 
a  desire  to  escape  from  it,  to  escape  detection  —  to  rid 
himself  of  his  overpowering  misery  in  the  quietest  way 
possible.  He  gathered  himself  together;  his  limbs 
steadied;  the  shivering  grew  less;  he  went  on  down 
the  road  at  a  quick  walk.  Already  the  quarrymen  were 
coming  out  in  force  to  see  what  might  be  up.  He  must 
avoid  them  at  all  hazards. 

One  thought  was  the  motive  power  which  sent 
Aileen  running  up  the  road  towards  the  pastures,  by 
crossing  which  she  could  reach  in  a  few  minutes  the 
quarry  woods:  "I  must  know  if  he  is  dead;  if  he  is 
not  dead,  I  must  try  to  save  him  from  a  living  death." 

This  thought  alone  sent  her  speeding  over  the  dark 
ened  slopes.  She  was  light  of  foot,  but  sometimes  she 
stumbled ;  she  was  up  and  on  again  —  the  sheepfold 
her  goal.  The  quarry  woods  stood  out  dark  against 
the  clear  sky;  there  seemed  to  be  more  light  on  these 
uplands  than  below  in  The  Gore;  she  saw  the  sheep- 
fold  like  a  square  blot  on  the  pasture  slope.  She 
reached  it  —  should  she  call  aloud  —  call  his  name  ? 
How  find  him? 

She  listened  intently;  the  wind  had  died  down;  the 
sheep  were  huddling  and  moving  restlessly  within  the 


278  Flamsted  Quarries 

fold;  this  movement  seemed  unusual.  She  climbed 
the  rough  stone  wall;  the  sheep  were  massed  in  one 
corner,  heads  to  the  wall,  tails  to  the  bare  centre  of  the 
fold ;  they  kept  crowding  closer  and  more  close. 

In  that  bared  space  of  hoof-trampled  earth  she  saw 
him  lying. 

She  leaped  down,  the  frightened  sheep  riding  one 
another  in  their  frantic  efforts  to  get  away  from  the  in 
vaders  of  their  peace.  She  knelt  by  him;  lifted  his 
head  on  her  knee;  her  hands  touched  his  sleeve,  she 
drew  back  from  something  warm  and  wet. 

"Champney  —  O  Champney,  what  has  he  done  to 
you!"  she  moaned  in  hopeless  terror;  "what  shall 
I  do  —  " 

"Is  it  you  —  Aileen ?  —  help  me  up  —  " 

With  her  aid  he  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"It  must  have  been  the  loss  of  blood  —  I  felt  faint 
suddenly."  He  spoke  clearly.  "Can  you  help  me?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes  —  only  tell  me  how." 

"If  you  could  bind  this  up  —  have  you  anything  —  " 

"Yes,  oh,  yes  —  " 

He  used  his  left  hand  entirely;  it  was  the  right  arm 
that  had  received  the  full  blow  of  some  sharp  instrument. 
"  Just  tear  away  the  shirt  —  that's  right  — 

She  did  as  he  bade  her.  She  took  her  handkerchief 
and  bound  the  arm  tightly  above  the  wound,  twisting 
it  with  one  of  her  shell  hairpins.  She  slipped  off  her 
white  petticoat,  stripped  it,  and  under  his  directions 
bandaged  the  arm  firmly. 

He  spoke  to  her  then  as  if  she  were  a  personality  and 
not  an  instrument. 

"Aileen,  it's  all  up  with  me  if  I  am  found  here  —  if 
I  don't  get  out  of  this  —  tell  my  mother  I  was  trying  to 
see  her  —  to  get  some  funds,  I  have  nothing.  I  de- 


Flamsted  Quarries  279 

pended  on  my  knowledge  of  this  country  to  escape  — 
put  them  off  the  track  —  they  're  after  me  now  — 
aren't  they?" 

"Yes—"" 

"I  thought  so;  I  should  have  got  across  to  the 
house  if  the  quarry  lights  had  n't  been  turned  on  so 
suddenly  —  I  knew  they  'd  got  word  when  I  saw  that  — 
still,  I  might  have  made  the  run,  but  that  man  throttled 
me  —  I  must  go  —  " 

He  got  on  his  feet.  At  that  moment  they  both  started 
violently  at  the  sound  of  something  worrying  at  the 
gate;  there  was  a  rattle  at  the  bars,  a  scramble,  a 
frightened  bleating  among  the  sheep,  a  joyous  bark  — 
and  Rag  flung  himself  first  upon  Aileen  then  on 
Champney. 

He  caught  the  dog  by  the  throat,  choking  him  into 
silence,  and  handed  him  to  Aileen. 

"For  God's  sake,  keep  the  dog  away — don't  let  him 
come  —  keep  him  quiet,  or  I'm  lost—  '  he  dropped 
over  the  wall  and  disappeared  in  the  woods. 

Here  and  there  across  the  pastures  a  lantern  shot  its 
unsteady  rays.  The  posse  had  begun  their  night's 
work. 

The  dog  struggled  frantically  to  free  himself  from 
Aileen's  arms;  again  and  again  she  choked  him  that 
he  might  not  bark  and  betray  his  master.  The  terri 
fied  sheep  bleated  loud  and  long,  trampling  one  an 
other  in  vain  efforts  to  get  through  or  over  the  wall. 

"Oh,  Rag,  Rag,  —  stop,  or  I  must  kill  you,  dear, 
dear  little  Rag  —  oh,  I  can't  choke  you  —  I  can't  —  I 
can't !  Rag,  be  still,  I  say  —  oh  — 

Between  his  desire  to  free  his  limbs,  to  breathe  freely, 
and  the  instinctive  longing  to  follow  his  master,  the 
dog's  powerful  muscles  were  doing  double  work. 


28 o  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Oh,  what  shall  I  do  — what  shall  I  do  —  "  she 
groaned  in  her  helplessness.  The  dog's  frantic  struggles 
were  proving  too  much  for  her  strength,  for  she  had  to 
hold  him  with  one  hand ;  the  other  was  on  his  windpipe. 
She  knew  'Lias  would  soon  be  coming  home ;  he  could 
hear  the  sheep  from  the  road,  as  she  already  heard  the 
subdued  bay  of  the  hound  and  the  muffled  bark  of  the 
collie,  shut  —  thanks  to  Mrs.  Caukins'  premonition  of 
what  might  happen  —  within  four  walls.  She  looked 
about  her  —  a  strip  of  her  white  skirt  lay  on  the  ground 
—  Could  she  — ? 

"No,  Rag  darling  —  no,  I  can't,  I  can't  —  "  she 
began  to  cry.  Through  her  tears  she  saw  something 
sticking  up  from  the  hoof-trampled  earth  near  the 
strip  of  cotton  —  a  knife  — 

She  was  obliged  to  take  her  hand  from  the  dog's 
throat  in  order  to  pick  it  up  —  there  was  one  joyous 
bark.  .  .  . 

"O  Rag,  forgive  me  —  forgive!"  she  cried  under 
her  breath,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

She  picked  up  the  piece  of  skirt,  and  fled  with  the 
knife  in  her  hand  —  over  the  wall,  over  the  pastures, 
that  seemed  lighter  beneath  the  rising  stars,  down  the 
highroad  into  the  glare  of  an  arc-light.  She  looked  at 
the  instrument  of  death  as  she  ran;  it  was  a  banana 
knife  such  as  Luigi  used  continually  in  his  shop.  She 
crossed  the  bridge,  dropped  the  knife  over  the  guard 
into  the  rushing  Rothel;  re-crossed  the  bridge  and, 
throwing  back  the  wings  of  the  Scotch  plaid  cape  she 
wore,  examined  in  the  full  light  of  the  powerful  terminal 
lamp  her  hands,  dress,  waist,  cuffs.  —  There  was 
evidence. 

She  took  off  her  cape,  wrapped  it  over  head  and 


Flamsted  Quarries  281 

shoulders,  folded  it  close  over  both  arms,  and  went 
back  to  the  house.  She  heard  carriages  coming  up  the 
road  to  The  Gore. 

Mrs.  Caukins,  in  a  quivering  state  of  excitement, 
called  to  her  from  the  back  porch : 

"  Come  out  here,  Aileen ;  'Lias  has  n't  got  back  yet  — 
the  sheep  are  making  the  most  awful  noise;  something's 
the  matter  over  there,  you  may  depend  —  and  I  can  see 
lights,  can  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  unsteadily.  "I  saw  them  a 
few  minutes  ago.  I  did  n't  stay  with  Ellen,  but  went 
up  the  road  a  piece,  for  my  head  was  aching  too,  and  I 
thought  a  little  air  would  do  me  good  —  and  I  believe 
I  got  frightened  seeing  the  lights  —  I  heard  the  sheep 
too  —  it's  dreadful  to  think  what  it  means." 

Mrs.  Caukins  turned  and  looked  at  her  sharply ;  the 
light  from  the  kitchen  shone  out  on  the  porch. 

"Well,  I  must  say  you  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost; 
you  're  all  of  a  shiver ;  you  'd  better  go  in  and  warm  you 
and  take  a  hot  water  bag  up  to  bed  with  you;  it's  going 
to  be  a  frosty  night.  I'm  going  to  stay  here  till  'Lias 
comes  back.  I'm  thankful  the  twins  are  abed  and 
asleep,  or  I  should  have  three  of  you  on  my  hands. 
Just  as  soon  as  'Lias  gets  back,  I'm  going  into  my 
room  to  lie  down  —  I  can't  sleep,  but  if  I  stay  up  on  my 
feet  another  hour  I  shall  collapse  with  my  nerves  and 
my  head;  you  can  do  what  you've  a  mind  to." 

Aileen  went  into  the  kitchen.  When  Mrs.  Caukins 
came  in,  fifteen  minutes  later,  with  the  information 
that  she  could  see  by  the  motion  of  'Lias'  lantern  that 
he  was  near  the  house,  she  found  the  girl  huddled  by 
the  stove;  she  was  still  wrapped  in  her  cape.  A  few 
minutes  afterwards  she  went  up  to  her  room  for  the 
night. 


282  Flamsted  Quarries 

Late  in  the  evening  there  was  a  rumor  about  town 
that  Champney  Googe  had  been  murdered  in  the 
Colonel's  sheepfold.  Before  midnight  this  was  contra 
dicted,  and  the  fact  established  that  'Lias  had  found 
his  dog  stabbed  to  death  in  the  fold,  and  that  he  said 
he  had  seen  traces  of  a  terrific  struggle.  The  last  news, 
that  came  in  over  the  telephone  from  the  quarries,  was 
to  the  effect  that  no  trace  of  the  fugitive  was  found  in 
the  quarry  woods  and  the  posse  were  now  on  the  county 
line  scouring  the  hills  to  the  north.  The  New  York 
detectives,  arriving  on  the  evening  train,  were  carried 
up  to  join  the  Flamsted  force. 

The  next  day  the  officers  of  the  law  returned,  and 
confirmed  the  report,  already  current  in  the  town,  that 
Champney  Googe  had  outwitted  them  and  made  his 
escape.  Every  one  believed  he  would  attempt  to  cross 
the  Canada  border,  and  the  central  detective  agency  laid 
its  lines  accordingly. 


XV 


SINCE  Champney  Googe's  escape  on  that  October 
night,  two  weeks  had  been  added  to  the  sum 
of  the  hours  that  his  friends  were  counting  until 
they  should  obtain  some  definite  word  of  his  fate.  During 
that  time  the  love  of  the  sensational,  which  is  at  the 
root  of  much  so-called  communal  interest,  \vas  fed  by 
the  excitement  of  the  nominal  proceedings  against 
Luigi  Poggi.  On  the  night  of  Champney's  flight  he 
went  to  Father  Honore*  and  Elmer  Wiggins,  and  con 
fessed  his  complicity  in  the  affair  at  the  sheepfold. 
Within  ten  days,  however,  the  Italian  had  been  exon 
erated  for  his  attack  on  the  escaped  criminal ;  nor  was 
the  slightest  blame  attached  to  such  action  on  his  part. 
He  had  been  duly  sworn  in  by  the  Colonel,  and  was 
justified  in  laying  hands  on  the  fugitive,  although  the 
wisdom  of  tackling  a  man,  who  was  in  such  desperate 
straits,  of  his  own  accord  and  alone  was  questioned. 
Not  once  during  the  sharp  cross  examination,  to  which 
he  \vas  subjected  by  Emlie  and  the  side-judge,  was 
Aileen's  name  mentioned  —  nor  did  he  mention  it  to 
Father  Honore.  Her  secret  was  to  be  kept. 

During  those  two  wreeks  of  misery  and  suspense  for 
all  who  loved  Champney  Googe,  Octavius  Buzzby 
was  making  up  his  mind  on  a  certain  subject.  Now 
that  it  was  fully  made  up,  his  knock  on  the  library  door 
sounded  more  like  a  challenge  than  a  plea  for  admittance. 

"Come  in,  Octavius." 

Mrs.  Champney  was  writing.    She  pushed  aside  the 


284  Flamsted  Quarries 

pad  and,  moving  her  chair,  faced  him.  Octavius  noted 
the  uncompromising  tone  of  voice  when  she  bade  him 
enter,  and  the  hard-set  lines  of  her  face  as  she  turned 
inquiringly  towards  him.  For  a  moment  his  courage 
flagged ;  then  the  righteousness  of  his  cause  triumphed. 
He  closed  the  door  behind  him.  This  was  not  his 
custom,  and  Mrs.  Champney  looked  her  surprise. 

"Anything  unusual,  Octavius?" 

"I  want  a  talk  with  you,  Mrs.  Champney." 

"Sit  down  then."  She  motioned  to  a  chair;  but 
Octavius  shook  his  head. 

"I  can  say  all  I've  got  to  say  standing;  it  ain't  much, 
but  it 's  to  the  point." 

Mrs.  Champney  removed  her  glasses  and  swung  them 
leisurely  back  and  forth  on  their  gold  chain.  "Well, 
to  the  point,  then." 

He  felt  the  challenge  implied  in  her  words  and  ac 
cepted  it. 

"I've  served  this  estate  pretty  faithful  for  hard  on 
to  thirty-seven  years.  I  've  served  the  Judge,  and  I  ?ve 
served  his  son,  and  now  I  'm  going  to  work  to  save  the 
man  that 's  named  for  that  son  — 

Mrs.  Champney  interrupted  him  sharply,  decisively. 

"  That  will  do,  Octavius.  There  is  no  occasion  for  you 
to  tell  me  this;  I  knew  from  the  first  you  would  cham 
pion  his  cause  —  no  matter  how  bad  a  one.  We  '11  drop 
the  subject;  you  must  be  aware  it  is  not  a  particularly 
pleasant  one  to  me." 

Octavius  winced.  Mrs.  Champney  smiled  at  the 
effect  of  her  words;  but  he  ignored  her  remark. 

"I  like  to  see  fair  play,  Mrs.  Champney,  and  I've 
seen  some  things  here  in  Champo  since  the  old  Judge 
died  that 's  gone  against  me.  Right 's  right  and  wrong  's 
wrong,  and  I  've  stood  by  and  kept  still  when  I  'd  ought 


Flamsted  Quarries  285 

to  have  spoken;  perhaps  'twould  have  been  better  for 
us  all  if  I  had  —  and  I  'm  including  Champney  Googe. 
When  his  father  died  —  Mrs.  Champney  started, 
leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  her  hands  tightly  grasping 
the  arms. 

"His  father—  "  she  caught  up  her  words,  pressed 
her  thin  lips  more  closely  together,  and  leaned  back 
again  in  her  chair.  Octavius  looked  at  her  in  amaze 
ment. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "his  father,  Warren  Googe; 
who  else  should  I  mean?" 

Mrs.  Champney  made  no  reply,  and  Octavius  went  on, 
wetting  his  lips  to  facilitate  articulation,  for  his  throat 
was  going  dry: 

"  His  father  made  me  promise  to  look  out  for  the  child 
that  was  a-coming;  and  another  man,  Louis  Champney, 
your  husband,"  —Mrs.  Champney  sat  up  rigid,  her 
eyes  fixed  in  a  stare  upon  the  speaker's  lips,  —  "told 
me  when  the  boy  come  that  he  'd  father  him  as  was 
fatherless  — " 

She  interrupted  him  again,  a  sneering  smile  on  her 
lips: 

"You  know  as  well  as  I,  Octavius  Buzzby,  what 
Mr.  Champney's  will  was  —  too  feeble  a  thing  to  place 
dependence  on  for  any  length  of  time;  if  he  said  that, 
he  did  n't  mean  it  —  not  as  you  think  he  did,"  she  added 
in  a  tone  that  sent  a  shiver  along  Octavius'  spine.  But 
he  did  not  intend  to  be  "downed,"  as  he  said  to  him 
self,  "not  this  time  by  Almeda  Champney."  He  con 
tinued  undaunted: 

"  I  do  know  what  he  meant  better  'n  anybody  living, 
and  I  know  what  he  was  going  to  do  for  the  boy ;  and  / 
know,  too,  Mrs.  Champney,  who  hindered  him  from 
having  his  will  to  do  for  the  boy;  and  right 's  right,  and 


286  Flamsted  Quarries 

now 's  your  time  to  make  good  to  his  memory  and  in 
tentions  —  to  make  good  your  husband's  will  for 
Champney  Googe  and  save  your  husband's  name  from 
disgrace  and  more  besides.  You  know  —  but  you 
never  knew  I  did  till  now  —  what  Louis  Champney 
promised  to  do  for  the  boy  —  and  he  told  me  more 
than  once,  Mrs.  Champney,  for  he  trusted  me.  He 
told  me  he  \vas  going  to  educate  the  boy  and  start  him 
well  in  life,  and  that  he  was  n't  going  to  end  there;  he 
told  me  he  was  going  to  leave  him  forty  thousand  dollars, 
Mrs.  Champney  —  and  he  told  me  this  not  six  weeks 
before  he  died;  and  the  interest  on  forty  thousand  has 
equalled  the  principal  by  this  time,  —  and  you  knowr  best 
why  he  has  n't  had  his  own  —  I  ain't  blind  and  nobody 
else  here  in  Flamsted.  And  now  I  've  come  to  ask  you, 
if  you've  got  a  woman's  heart  instead  of  a  stone  in  your 
bosom,  to  make  over  that  principal  and  interest  to  the 
Quarry  Company  and  save  the  boy  Louis  Champney 
loved;  he  told  me  once  what  I  knew,  that  his  blood 
flowed  in  that  child's  veins  — 

"  That 's  a  lie  —  take  that  back ! "  she  almost  shrieked 
under  her  breath.  She  started  to  her  feet,  trembling 
in  every  limb,  her  face  twitching  painfully. 

Octavius  was  appalled  at  the  effect  of  his  words;  but 
he  dared  not  falter  now  —  too  much  was  at  stake  — 
although  fearful  of  the  effect  of  any  further  excitement 
upon  the  woman  before  him.    He  spoke  appeasingly : 

"I  can't  take  that  back,  for  it 's  true,  Mrs.  Champney. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  far  back  his  mother  was 
a  Champney." 

"Oh  —  I  forgot."  She  dropped  into  her  chair  and 
drew  a  long  breath  as  of  exhaustion.  "What  were  you 
saying?"  She  passed  her  hand  slowly  over  her  eyes, 
then  put  on  her  glasses.  Octavius  saw  by  that  one 


Flamsted  Quarries  287 

movement  that  she  had  regained  her  usual  control. 
He,  too,  felt  relieved,  and  spoke  more  freely : 

"  I  said  I  want  you  to  make  good  that  eighty  thousand 
dollars—" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Octavius  Buzzby,"  —  she  broke  in 
upon  him  coldly,  a  world  of  scornful  pity  in  her  voice,  — 
"you  mean  well,  but  you're  a  fool  to  think  that  at  my 
time  of  life  I  'm  going  to  impoverish  myself  and  my 
estate  for  Champney  Googe.  You've  had  your  pains 
for  nothing.  Let  him  take  his  punishment  like  any 
other  man  —  he  's  no  better,  no  worse;  it 's  the  fault  of 
his  bringing  up;  Aurora  has  only  herself  to  thank." 

Octavius  took  a  step  forward.  By  a  powerful  effort 
he  restrained  himself  from  shaking  his  fist  in  her  face. 
He  spoke  under  his  breath : 

"  You  leave  Aurora's  name  out  of  this,  Mrs.  Champ 
ney,  or  I'll  say  things  that  you'll  be  sorry  to  hear." 
His  anger  was  roused  to  white  heat  and  he  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  say  more. 

She  laughed  out  loud  —  the  forced,  mocking  laugh  of 
a  miserable  old  age.  "I  knew  from  the  first  Aurora 
Googe  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  — " 

"She  doesn't  know  anything  about  this,  I  came 
of—" 

"You  keep  still  till  I  finish,"  she  commanded  him, 
her  faded  eyes  sending  forth  something  from  behind  her 
glasses  that  resembled  blue  lightning;  "I  say  she's 
at  the  bottom  of  this  as  she  's  been  at  the  bottom  of 
everything  else  in  Flamsted.  She  '11  never  have  a  penny 
of  my  money,  that  was  Louis  Champney 's,  to  clear 
either  herself  or  her  state's-prison  brat !  Tell  her  that  for 
me  with  my  compliments  on  her  son's  career.  —  And  as 
for  you,  Octavius  Buzzby,  I  '11  repeat  what  you  said : 
I  'm  not  blind  and  nobody  else  is  in  Flamsted,  and  I 


288  Flamsted  Quarries 

know,  and  everybody  here  knows,  that  you've  been 
in  love  with  Aurora  Googe  ever  since  my  father  took 
her  into  his  home  to  bring  up." 

She  knew  that  blow  would  tell.  Octavius  started 
as  if  he  had  been  struck  in  the  face  by  the  flat  of  an 
enemy's  hand.  He  stepped  forward  quickly  and  looked 
her  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"You  she-devil,"  he  said  in  a  low  clear  voice,  turned 
on  his  heel  and  left  the  room.  He  closed  the  door  behind 
him,  and  felt  of  the  knob  to  see  that  he  had  shut  it  tight. 
This  revelation  of  a  woman's  nature  was  sickening 
him;  he  wanted  to  make  sure  that  the  library  door  was 
shut  close  upon  the  malodorous  charnel  house  of  the 
passions.  He  shivered  with  a  nervous  chill  as  he  hur 
ried  down  the  hall  and  went  upstairs  to  his  room  in 
the  ell. 

He  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  leaned  his  head  on  his 
hands,  pressing  his  fingers  against  his  throbbing  tem 
ples.  Half  an  hour  passed;  still  he  sat  there  trying  to 
recover  his  mental  poise ;  the  terrible  anger  he  had  felt, 
combined  with  her  last  thrust,  had  shocked  him  out 
of  it. 

At  last  he  rose ;  went  to  his  desk ;  opened  a  drawer,  took 
out  a  tin  box,  unlocked  it,  and  laid  the  papers  and  books 
it  contained  one  by  one  on  the  table  to  inspect  them. 
He  selected  a  few,  snapped  a  rubber  about  the  package 
and  thrust  it  into  the  inner  breast  pocket  of  his  coat. 
Then  he  reached  for  his  hat,  went  downstairs,  left  word 
with  Ann  that  he  was  going  to  drive  down  for  the  mail 
but  that  he  should  not  be  back  before  ten,  proceeded  to 
the  stable,  harnessed  the  mare  into  a  light  driving 
trap  and  drove  away.  He  took  the  road  to  The  Gore. 

On  approaching  the  house  he  saw  a  light  in  Aurora's 
bedroom.  He  drove  around  to  the  kitchen  door  and 


Flamsted  Quarries  289 

tied  the  mare  to  the  hitching-post.  His  rap  was  answered 
by  Ellen,  a  quarryman's  daughter  whom  Mrs.  Googe 
employed  for  general  help;  but  she  spoke  behind  the 
closed  door: 

"Who  is  it?" 

"It's  me,  Octavius  Buzzby." 

She  drew  the  bolt  and  flung  open  the  door.  "  Oh,  it's 
you,  is  it,  Mr.  Buzzby?  I  've  got  so  nervous  these  last 
three  weeks,  I  keep  the  door  bolted  most  of  the  time. 
Have  you  heard  anything?"  she  asked  eagerly,  speak 
ing  under  her  breath. 

"No,"  said  Octavius  shortly;  "I  want  to  see  Mrs. 
Googe.  Tell  her  I  must  see  her;  it's  important." 

The  girl  hesitated.  "I  don't  believe  she  will  —  and 
I  hate  to  ask  her  —  she  looks  awful,  Mr.  Buzzby.  It 
scares  me  just  to  see  her  goin'  round  without  saying  a 
word  from  morning  to  night,  and  then  walking  half  the 
night  up  in  her  room.  I  don 't  believe  she 's  slept  two 
hours  a  night  since  —  you  know  when." 

"I  guess  she'll  see  me,  Ellen;  you  go  and  ask  her, 
anyway.  I  '11  stay  in  the  lower  hall." 

He  heard  her  rap  at  the  bedroom  door  and  deliver 
the  message.  There  followed  the  sharp  click  of  a  lock, 
the  opening  of  the  door  and  the  sound  of  Aurora's  voice : 

"Tell  him  to  come  up." 

Octavius  started  upstairs.  He  had  seen  her  but 
once  in  the  past  three  weeks ;  that  was  when  he  went 
to  her  on  the  receipt  of  the  news  of  Champney's  flight ; 
he  vowed  then  he  would  not  go  again  unless  sent  for; 
the  sight  of  the  mother's  despair,  that  showed  itself  in 
speechless  apathy,  was  too  much  for  him.  He  could 
only  grasp  her  hand  at  that  time,  press  it  in  both  his, 
and  say:  "Aurora,  if  you  need  me,  call  me;  you  know 
me.  We  '11  help  all  we  can  —  both  of  you  — " 


290  Flamsted  Quarries 

But  there  was  no  response.  He  tiptoed  out  of  the 
room  as  if  leaving  the  presence  of  the  dead. 

Now,  as  he  mounted  the  stairs,  he  had  time  to  won 
der  what  her  attitude  would  be  after  these  three  weeks 
of  suspense.  A  moment  more  and  he  stood  in  her 
presence,  mute,  shocked,  heartsick  at  the  change  that 
this  month  of  agony  had  wrought  in  her.  Her  face  was 
ghastly  in  its  pallor;  deep  yellowish-purple  half-circles 
lay  beneath  her  sunken  eyes;  every  feature,  every  line 
of  the  face  was  sharpened,  and  on  each  cheek  bone 
burned  a  fever  spot  of  vivid  scarlet;  her  dry  eyes 
also  burned  with  unnatural  and  fevered  brightness,  the 
heavy  eyelids  keeping  up  a  continuous  quivering,  painful 
to  see.  The  hand  she  held  out  to  him  -throbbed  quick 
and  hard  in  his  grasp. 

"Any  news,  Tave?"  Her  voice  was  dull  from  de 
spair. 

He  shook  his  head;  the  slow  tears  coursed  down  his 
cheeks ;  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  Sit  down,  Tave ;  you  said  it  was  important." 

He  controlled  his  emotion  as  best  he  could.  "Aurora, 
I  've  been  thinking  what  can  be  done  when  he 's 
found  — " 

"If  he  ever  is!  Oh,  Tave,  Tave  —  if  I  could  only 
know  something  —  where  he  is  —  if  living;  I  can't 
sleep  thinking  —  She  wrung  her  clasped  hands  and 
began  to  walk  nervously  back  and  forth  in  the  room. 

"Aurora,  I  feel  sure  he's  living,  but  w^hen  he's  found 
—  then  's  the  time  to  help." 

"How?"  She  turned  upon  him  almost  savagely; 
it  looked  as  if  her  primitive  mother-passion  were  at  bay 
for  her  young.  "Where's  help  to  come  from?  I've 
nothing  left." 

"But  I  have."    He  spoke  with  confidence  and  took 


Flamsted  Quarries  291 

out  the  package  from  his  breast  pocket.  He  held  it  out 
to  her.  "  See  here,  Aurora,  here  's  the  value  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars  —  take  it  —  use  it  as  your  own." 

She  drew  away  from  it.  — "Money!"  She  spoke 
almost  with  horror. 

"Yes,  Aurora,  honest  money.  Take  it  and  see  how 
far  't  will  go  towards  saving  prosecution  for  him." 

"You  mean — ,"  she  hesitated;  her  dry  eyes  bored 
into  his  that  dropped  before  her  unwavering  gaze, 
" — you  mean  you're  giving  your  hard-earned  wages 
to  me  to  help  save  my  boy?" 

"Yes,  and  glad  to  give  them  —  if  you  knew  how 
glad,  Aurora — " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Octavius  took 
her  by  the  arm  and  drew  her  to  a  chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said  gently ;  "  you  're  all  worn  out." 

She  obeyed  him  passively,  still  keeping  her  hands 
before  her  face.  But  no  sooner  was  she  seated  than  she 
began  to  rock  uneasily  back  and  forth,  moaning  to 
herself,  till  suddenly  the  long-dried  fount  was  opened 
up;  the  merciful  blessing  of  tears  found  vent.  She 
shook  with  uncontrollable  sobbing ;  she  wept  for  the  first 
time  since  Champney's  flight,  and  the  tears  eased  her 
brain  for  the  time  of  its  living  nightmare. 

Octavius  waited  for  her  weeping  to  spend  itself. 
His  heart  was  wrung  with  pity,  but  he  was  thankful 
for  every  tear  she  shed ;  his  gratefulness,  however,  found 
a  curious  inner  expression. 

"Damn  her  —  damn  her  —  damn  her — "  he  kept 
saying  over  and  over  to  himself,  and  the  mere  repe 
tition  seemed  to  ease  him  of  his  overpowering  sur 
charge  of  pity.  But  it  was  Almeda  Champney  he  had 
in  mind,  and,  after  all,  his  unuttered  inner  curses  were 
only  a  prayer  for  help,  read  backwards. 


292  Flamsted  Quarries 

At  last,  Aurora  Googe  lifted  her  face  from  her  hands 
and  looked  at  Octavius  Buzzby.  He  reddened  and  rose 
to  go. 

"Tave,  wait  a  little  while;  don't  go  yet." 

He  sat  down. 

"  I  thought  —  I  felt  all  was  lost  —  no  one  cared  —  I 
was  alone  —  there  was  no  help.  You  have  shown  me 
that  I  have  been  wrong  —  all  wrong  —  such  friends  — 
such  a  friend  as  you  —  Her  lips  quivered ;  the  tears 
welled  from  the  red  and  swollen  lids.  "I  can't  take 
the  money,  Tave,  I  can't  —  don't  look  so  —  only  on 
one  condition.  I  Ye  been  coming  to  a  decision  the  last 
two  days.  I  'm  going  straight  to  Almeda,  Tave,  and 
ask  her,  beg  her,  if  I  have  to,  on  my  bended  knees 
to  save  my  boy  —  she  has  more  than  enough  —  you 
know,  Tave,  what  Champney  should  have  had  — 

Octavius  nodded  emphatically  and  found  his  voice. 

"Don't  I  know?  You  may  bet  your  life  I  know 
more  'n  I've  ever  told,  Aurora.  Don't  I  know  how  Louis 
Champney  said  to  me:  'Tave,  I  shall  see  the  boy 
through ;  forty  thousand  of  mine  is  to  be  his ' ;  and 
that  was  six  weeks  before  he  died;  and  don't  I  know, 
too,  how  I  did  n't  get  a  glimpse  of  Louis  Champney 
again  till  two  weeks  before  his  death,  and  then  he  was 
unconscious  and  did  n't  know  me  or  any  one  else?" 

Octavius  paused  for  breath.  Aurora  Googe  rose  and 
went  to  the  closet. 

"I  must  go  now,  Tave;  take  me  with  you."  She  took 
out  a  cloak  and  burnous. 

"  I  hate  to  say  it,  Aurora,  but  I  'm  afraid  it  won't  do 
no  good ;  she  's  a  tough  cuss  when  it  comes  to  money  — 

"  But  she  must ;  he 's  her  own  flesh  and  blood  and  she 's 
cheated  him  out  of  what  is  rightfully  his.  It 's  been  my 
awful  pride  that  kept  me  from  going  sooner  —  and  — 


Flamsted  Quarries  293 

oh,  Tave,  Tave,  —  I  tried  to  make  my  boy  promise 
never  to  ask  her  for  money !  I've  been  hoping  all  along 
she  would  offer  — " 

"Offer!  Almeda  Champney  offer  to  help  any  one 
with  her  money  that  was  Louis  Champney's!" 

"But  she  has  enough  of  her  own,  Tave;  the  money 
that  was  my  boy's  grandfather's." 

"  You  don't  know  her,  Aurora,  not  yet,  after  all  you  've 
suffered  from  her.  If  you  'd  seen  her  and  lived  with  her 
as  I  have,  year  out  and  year  in,  you'd  know  her  love 
of  money  has  eat  into  her  soul  and  gangrened  it.  'T  ain't 
no  use  to  go,  I  tell  you,  Aurora."  He  put  out  his  hand 
to  detain  her,  for  she  had  thrown  on  her  cloak  and  was 
winding  the  burnous  about  her  head. 

"Tave,  I  'm  going;  don't  say  another  word  against 
it ;  and  you  must  take  me  down.  She  is  n't  the  only 
one  who  has  loved  money  till  it  blinded  them  to  duty  — 
I  can't  throwr  stones  —  and  after  all  she's  a  woman; 
I  am  going  to  ask  her  to  help  with  the  money  that  is 
rightfully  my  boy's  —  and  if  she  gives  it,  I  will  take 
your  twenty  thousand  to  make  up  the  amount."  She 
pressed  the  package  into  his  hand. 

"But  what  if  she  doesn't?" 

"Then  I'll  ask  Father  Honore  to  do  what  he  pro 
posed  to  do  last  week :  go  to  Mr.  Van  Ostend  and  ask 
him  for  the  money  —  there  's  nothing  left  but  that." 
She  drew  her  breath  hard  and  led  the  way  from  the  room, 
hurriedly,  as  if  there  were  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Oc- 
tavius  followed  her,  protesting : 

"Try  Mr.  Van  Ostend  first,  Aurora;  don't  go  to  Mrs. 
Champney  now." 

"Now  is  the  only  time.  If  I  had  n't  asked  my  own 
relation,  Mr.  Van  Ostend  would  have  every  reason  to 
say,  'Why  did  n't  you  try  in  your  own  family  first ? ' ' 


294  Flamsted  Quarries 

"But,  Aurora,  I'm  afraid  to  have  you." 

"  Afraid  !    I,  of  Almeda  Champney  ?" 

She  stopped  short  on  the  stairs  to  look  back  at  him. 
There  was  a  trace  of  the  old-time  haughtiness  in  her 
bearing.  Octavius  welcomed  it,  for  he  was  realizing 
that  he  could  not  move  her  from  her  decision,  and  as 
for  the  message  from  Almeda  Champney,  he  knew  he 
never  could  deliver  it  —  he  had  no  courage. 

"You  need  n't  sit  up  for  me,  Ellen,"  she  said  to  the 
surprised  girl  as  they  went  out;  "it  may  be  late  before 
I  get  home ;  bolt  the  back  door,  I  '11  take  the  key  to  the 
front." 

He  helped  her  into  the  trap,  and  in  silence  they  drove 
down  to  The  Bow. 


XVI 

ARORA  GOOGE  spoke  for  the  first  time  when 
Octavius  left  her  at  the  door  of  Champ-au- 
Haut. 

"Tave,  don't  leave  me;  I  want  you  to  be  near, 
somewhere  in  the  hall,  if  she  is  in  the  library.  I  want 
a  witness  to  what  I  must  say  and  —  I  trust  you.  But 
don't  come  into  the  room  no  matter  what  is  said." 

"  I  won't,  Aurora,  and  I  '11  be  there  in  a  few  minutes. 
I  'm  just  going  to  drive  to  the  stable  and  send  the  boy 
down  for  the  mail,  and  I  '11  be  right  back.  There  's 
Aileen." 

The  girl  answered  the  knock,  and  on  recognizing 
who  it  was  caught  her  breath  sharply.  She  had  not 
seen  Mrs.  Googe  during  the  past  month  of  misery  and 
shame  and  excitement,  and  previous  to  that  she  had 
avoided  Champney  Googe's  mother  on  account  of  the 
humiliation  her  love  for  the  son  had  suffered  at  that 
son's  hands  —  a  humiliation  which  struck  at  the  roots 
of  all  that  was  truest  and  purest  in  that  womanhood, 
which  was  drying  up  the  clear-welling  spring  of  her 
buoyant  temperament,  her  young  enjoyment  in  life  and 
living  and  all  that  life  offers  of  best  to  youth  —  offers 
once  only. 

She  started  back  at  the  sight  of  those  dark  eyes  glow 
ing  with  an  unnatural  fire,  at  the  haggard  face,  its  pallor 
accentuated  by  the  white  burnous.  One  thought  had 
time  to  flash  into  consciousness  before  the  woman  stand 
ing  on  the  threshold  could  speak:  here  was  suffering 


296  Flamsted  Quarries 

to  which  her  own  was  as  a  candle  light  to  furnace 
flame. 

"I  've  come  to  see  Mrs.  Champney,  Aileen;  is  she  in 
the  library?" 

"Yes,"  — the  girl's  lips  trembled,  —  " shall  I  tell 
her  you  are  here?" 

"No."  She  threw  aside  her  cloak  as  if  in  great  haste ; 
Aileen  took  it  and  laid  it  on  a  chair.  Mrs.  Googe  went 
swiftly  to  the  library  door  and  rapped.  Aileen  heard  the 
"Come  in,"  and  the  exclamation  that  followed:  "So 
you've  come  at  last,  have  you !" 

She  knew  that  tone  of  voice  and  what  it  portended. 
She  put  her  fingers  in  her  ears  to  shut  out  further  sound 
of  it,  and  ran  down  the  hall  to  the  back  passageway, 
closed  the  door  behind  her  and  stood  there  trembling 
from  nervousness.  —  Had  Mrs.  Googe  obtained  some 
inkling  that  she  had  a  message  to  deliver  from  that 
son  ?  —  a  message  she  neither  could  nor  would  de 
liver?  Did  Champney  Googe's  mother  know  that  she 
had  seen  that  son  in  the  quarry  woods?  Mrs.  Googe's 
friends  had  told  her  the  truth  of  the  affair  at  the  sheep- 
fold,  when  it  was  found  that  her  unanswered  suspicions 
were  liable  to  unsettle  her  reason.  —  Could  she  know  of 
that  message  ?  Could  any  one  ? 

The  mere  presence  in  the  house  of  this  suffering 
woman  set  Aileen's  every  nerve  tingling  with  sickening 
despair.  She  determined  to  wait  there  in  the  dimly 
lighted  back  hall  until  Octavius  should  make  his  ap 
pearance,  be  it  soon  or  late ;  he  always  came  through 
here  on  his  way  to  the  ell. 

Aurora  Googe  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left  on 
entering  the  room.  She  went  straight  to  the  library 
table,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which  Mrs.  Champney  was 
still  sitting  where  Octavius  had  left  her  nearly  two 


Flamsted  Quarries  297 

hours  before.  She  stemmed  both  hands  on  it  as  if  find 
ing  the  support  necessary.  Fixing  her  eyes,  already  be 
ginning  to  glaze  with  the  increasing  fever,  upon  her 
sister-in-law,  she  spoke,  but  with  apparent  effort: 

"Yes,  I  've  come,  at  last,  Almeda  —  I  've  come  to  ask 
help  for  my  boy  — " 

Mrs.  Champney  interrupted  her;  she  was  trembling 
visibly,  even  Aurora  Googe  saw  that. 

"I  suppose  this  is  Octavius  Buzzby's  doings.  When 
I  gave  him  that  message  it  was  final  — final,  do  you 
hear?" 

She  raised  her  voice  almost  an  octave  in  the  intense 
excitement  she  was  evidently  trying  to  combat.  The 
sound  penetrated  to  Aileen,  shut  in  the  back  hall,  and 
again  she  thrust  her  fingers  into  her  ears.  At  that 
moment  Octavius  entered  from  the  outer  door. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Aileen?"  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  spoke  roughly  to  her. 

She  turned  upon  him  her  white  scared  face.  "What 
is  she  doing?"  she  managed  to  say  through  chattering 
teeth. 

Octavius  repented  him,  that  under  the  strain  of  the 
situation  he  had  spoken  to  her  as  he  had.  "  Go  to  bed, 
Aileen,"  he  said  firmly,  but  gently;  "this  ain't  no  place 
for  you  now." 

She  needed  but  that  word;  she  was  half  way  up  the 
stairs  before  he  had  finished.  He  heard  her  shut  her 
self  into  the  room.  He  hung  up  his  coat,  noiselessly 
opened  the  door  into  the  main  hall,  closed  it  softly  behind 
him  and  took  his  stand  half  way  to  the  library  door. 
He  saw  nothing,  but  he  heard  all. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the  room;  then 
Aurora  spoke  in  a  dull  strained  voice : 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  —  I  haven't  had 


298  Flamsted  Quarries 

any  message,  and  —  and  "  —  she  swallowed  hard  — 
"nothing  is  final  —  nothing  —  not  yet  —  that's  why 
I've  come.  You  must  help  me,  Almeda  —  help  me  to 
save  Champney;  there  is  no  one  else  in  our  family 
I  can  call  upon  or  who  can  do  it  —  and  there  is  a 
chance  —  " 

"What  chance?" 

•  "The  chance  to  save  him  from  —  from  imprisonment 
—  from  a  living  death  — 

"Has  he  been  taken?" 

"  Taken  ! "  —  she  swayed  back  from  the  table,  clutch 
ing  convulsively  the  edge  to  preserve  her  balance  — 
"don't  —  don't,  Almeda;  it  will  kill  me.  I  am  afraid 
for  him  —  afraid  —  don't  you  understand  ?  —  Help 
me  —  let  me  have  the  money,  the  amount  that  will  save 
my  son  — free  him  —  " 

She  swayed  back  towards  the  table  and  leaned  heavily 
upon  it,  as  fearing  to  lose  her  hold  lest  she  should  sink 
to  her  knees.  Mrs.  Champney  was  recovering  in  a 
measure  from  the  first  excitement  consequent  upon 
the  shock  of  seeing  the  woman  she  hated  standing 
so  suddenly  in  her  presence.  She  spoke  with  cutting 
sarcasm : 

"What  amount,  may  I  inquire,  do  you  deem  neces 
sary  for  the  present  to  insure  prospective  freedom  for 
your  son?" 

"You  know  well  enough,  Almeda;  I  must  have 
eighty  thousand  at  least." 

Mrs.  Champney  laughed  aloud  —  the  same  mocking 
laugh  of  a  miserable  old  age  that  had  raised  Octavius 
Buzzby's  anger  to  a  white  heat  of  rage.  Hearing  it  again, 
the  man  of  Maine,  without  fully  realizing  what  he  was 
doing,  turned  back  his  cuffs.  He  could  scarce  restrain 
himself  sufficiently  to  keep  his  promise  to  Aurora. 


Flamsted  Quarries  299 

"Eighty  thousand?  —  hm — m;  between  you  and  Oc- 
tavius  Buzzby  there  would  be  precious  little  left  either 
at  Champ-au-Haut  or  of  it."  She  turned  in  her  chair 
in  order  to  look  squarely  up  into  the  face  of  the  woman 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table.  "And  you  expect 
me  to  impoverish  myself  for  the  sake  of  Champney 
Googe?" 

"It  wouldn't  impoverish  you  —  you  have  your 
father's  property  and  more  too ;  he  is  of  your  own  blood 
—  why  not?" 

"Why  not?"  she  repeated  and  laughed  out  again 
in  her  scorn;  "why  should  I,  answer  me  that?" 

"He  is  your  brother,  Warren  Googe's  son  —  don't 
make  me  say  any  more,  Almeda  Champney;  you  know 
that  nothing  but  this,  nothing  on  earth  —  could  have 
brought  me  here  to  ask  anything  of  you!" 

There  was  a  ring  of  the  old-time  haughty  independ 
ence  in  her  voice;  Octavius  rejoiced  to  hear  it.  "She  's 
getting  a  grip  on  herself,"  he  said  to  himself;  "I 
hope  she  '11  give  her  one  'fore  she  gets  through  with 
her." 

"Why  didn't  my  brother  save  his  money  for  him 
then  —  if  he  's  his  son?"  she  demanded  sharply,  but 
breathing  short  as  she  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  tone 
that  conveyed  the  venom  of  intense  hatred. 

"Almeda,  don't;  you  know  well  enough  'why';  don't 
keep  me  in  such  suspense  —  I  can't  bear  it ;  only  tell 
me  if  you  will  help." 

She  seemed  to  gather  herself  together;  she  swept 
round  the  table ;  came  close  to  the  woman  in  the  arm 
chair;  bent  to  her;  the  dark  burning  eyes  fixed  the  faded 
blue  ones.  "  Tell  me  quick,  I  say,  —  I  can  bear  no 
more." 

"Aurora  Googe,  I  sent  word  to  you  by  Octavius 


300  Flamsted  Quarries 

Buzzby  that  I  would  not  help  your  state's-prison  bird 
—  fledged  from  your  nest,  not  mine,  —  " 

She  did  not  finish,  for  the  woman  she  was  torturing 
suddenly  laid  a  hot  hand  hard  and  close,  for  the  space 
of  a  few  seconds,  over  those  malevolent  lips.  Mrs. 
Champney  drew  back,  turned  in  her  chair  and  reached 
for  the  bell. 

Aurora  removed  her  hand. 

"  Stop  there, you've  said  enough,  Almeda  Champney !" 
she  commanded  her.  She  pointed  to  the  portrait  over 
the  fireplace.  "  By  the  love  he  bore  my  son  —  by  the 
love  we  two  women  bore  him  —  help  — 

Mrs.  Champney  rose  suddenly  by  great  effort  from 
her  chair.  The  two  women  stood  facing  each  other. 

"  Go  —  go  !"  she  cried  out  shrilly,  hoarsely;  her  face 
was  distorted  with  passion,  her  hands  were  clenched 
and  trembling  violently,  "  leave  my  sight  —  leave  my 
house  —  you  —  you  ask  me,  by  the  love  we  bore  Louis 
Champney,  to  save  from  his  just  deserts  Louis  Champ 
ney 's  bastard !  " 

Her  voice  rose  to  a  shriek;  she  shook  her  fist  in 
Aurora's  face,  then  sank  into  her  chair  and,  seizing  the 
bell,  rang  it  furiously. 

Octavius  darted  forward,  but  stopped  short  when  he 
heard  Aurora's  voice  —  low,  dull,  as  if  a  sickening 
horror  had  quenched  forever  its  life: 

"  You  have  thought  that  all  these  years  ?  —  O  God  !  — 
Louis  —  Louis,  what  more  — 

She  fell  before  Octavius  could  reach  her.  Aileen  and 
Ann,  hearing  the  bell,  came  running  through  the  hall 
into  the  room. 

"  Help  me  up  stairs,  Aileen,"  —  the  old  woman  was  in 
command  as  usual,  —  "give  me  my  cane,  Ann;  don't 
stand  there  staring  like  two  fools." 


Flamsted  Quarries  301 

Aileen  made  a  sign  to  Octavius  to  call  Hannah ;  the 
two  women  helped  the  mistress  of  Champ-au-Haut 
up  to  her  room. 

Mrs.  Googe  seemed  not  to  have  lost  consciousness, 
for  as  Hannah  bent  over  her  she  noticed  that  her 
eyelids  quivered. 

"She  's  all  wore  out,  poor  dear,  that's  what's  the 
matter,"  said  Hannah,  raising  her  to  a  sitting  position; 
she  passed  her  hand  tenderly  over  the  dark  hair. 

Aileen  came  running  down  stairs  bringing  salts  and 
cologne.  Hannah  bathed  her  forehead  and  chafed  her 
wrists. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  white  lips  quivered,  the  eyes 
opened;  she  made  an  effort  to  rise.  Octavius  helped 
her  to  her  feet;  but  for  Aileen's  arm  around  her  she 
would  have  fallen  again. 

"Take  me  home,  Tave."    She  spoke  in  a  weak  voice. 

"I  will,  Aurora,"  he  answered  promptly,  soothingly, 
although  his  hands  trembled  as  he  led  her  to  a  sofa; 
"I'll  just  hitch  up  the  pair  in  the  carryall  and  Hannah '11 
ride  up  with  us,  won't  you,  Hannah?" 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  Don't  you  grieve  yourself 
to  death,  Mis'  Googe,"  she  said  tenderly. 

"Don't  wait  to  harness  into  the  carryall,  Tave  — 
take  me  now  —  in  the  trap  —  take  me  away  from  here. 
I  don't  need  you,  Hannah.     I  did  n't  know  I  was  so 
weak  —  the  air  will  make  me  feel  better;   give  me  my 
cloak,  Aileen." 

The  girl  wrapped  her  in  it,  adjusted  the  burnous, 
that  had  fallen  from  her  head,  and  went  with  her  to  the 
door.  Aurora  turned  and  looked  at  her.  The  girl's 
heart  was  nigh  to  bursting.  Impulsively  she  threw 
her  arms  around  the  woman's  neck  and  whispered: 
"If  you  need  me,  do  send  for  me  —  I'll  come." 


302  Flamsted  Quarries 

But  Aurora  Googe  went  forth  from  Champ-au-Haut 
without  a  word  either  to  the  girl,  to  Hannah,  or  to 
Octavius  Buzzby. 

For  the  first  two  miles  they  drove  in.  silence.  The 
night  was  clear  but  cold,  the  ground  frozen  hard;  a 
northwest  wind  roared  in  the  pines  along  the  highroad 
and  bent  the  bare  treetops  on  the  mountain  side.  From 
time  to  time  Octavius  heard  the  woman  beside  him 
sigh  heavily  as  from  physical  exhaustion.  When,  at 
last,  he  felt  that  she  was  shivering,  he  spoke : 

"Are  you  cold,  Aurora?  I've  got  something  extra 
under  the  seat." 

"No,  I'm  not  cold;  I  feel  burning  up." 

He  turned  to  look  at  her  face  in  the  glare  of  an 
electric  light  they  were  passing.  It  was  true ;  the  rigor 
was  that  of  increasing  fever ;  her  cheeks  were  scarlet. 

"I  wish  you'd  have  let  me  telephone  for  the  doctor; 
I  don't  feel  right  not  to  leave  you  in  his  hands  to-night, 
and  Ellen  has  n't  got  any  head  on  her." 

"No  —  no;  I  don't  need  him;  he  couldn't  do  me 
any  good  —  nobody  can.  —  Tave,  did  you  hear  her, 
what  she  said?"  She  leaned  towards  him  to  whisper 
her  question  as  if  she  feared  the  dark  might  have  ears. 

"Yes,  I  heard  her  —  damn  her!  I  can't  help  it, 
Aurora." 

"And  you  don't  believe  it  —  you  know  it  isn't 
true?" 

Octavius  drew  rein  for  a  moment;  lifted  his  cap 
and  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  forehead  to 
wipe  off  the  sweat  that  stood  in  beads  on  it.  He  turned 
to  the  woman  beside  him;  her  dark  eyes  were  devour 
ing  his  face  in  the  effort,  or  so  it  seemed,  to  anticipate 
his  answer. 


Flamsted  Quarries  303 

"Aurora,  I've  known  you"  (how  he  longed  to  say 
"  loved  you,"  but  those  were  not  words  for  him  to  speak 
to  Aurora  Googe  after  thirty  years  of  silence)  "  ever 
since  you  was  sixteen  and  old  Mr.  Googe  took  you, 
an  orphan  girl,  into  his  home;  and  I  knew  Louis 
Champney  from  the  time  he  was  the  same  age  till  he 
died.  What  I  've  seen,  I  've  seen ;  and  what  I  know,  I 
know.  Louis  Champney  loved  you  better 'n  he  loved 
his  life,  and  I  know  you  loved  him ;  but  if  the  Almighty 
himself  should  swear  it's  true  what  Almeda  Googe 
said,  I  would  n't  believe  him  —  I  would  n't !" 

The  terrible  nervous  strain  from  which  the  woman 
was  suffering  lessened  under  the  influence  of  his  speech. 
She  leaned  nearer. 

"It  was  not  true,"  she  whispered  again;  "I  know 
you'll  believe  me." 

Her  voice  sounded  weaker  than  before,  and  Octa- 
vius  grew  alarmed  lest  she  have  another  of  what  Hannah 
termed  a  "sinking  spell"  then  and  there.  He  drew 
rein  suddenly,  and  so  tightly  that  the  mare  bounded 
forward  and  pulled  at  a  forced  pace  up  the  hill  to  The 
Gore. 

"And  she  thought  that  all  these  years  —  and  I  never 
knew.    That  's  why  she  hates  my  boy  and  won't  help  — 
oh,  how  could  she!" 

She  shivered  again.  Octavius  urged  the  mare  to 
greater  exertion.  If  only  he  could  get  the  stricken 
woman  home  before  she  had  another  turn. 

"How  could  she?"  he  repeated  with  scathing  em 
phasis;  "just  as  any  she-devil  can  set  brooding  on  an 
evil  thought  for  years  till  she's  hatched  out  a  devil's 
dozen  of  filthy  lies."  He  drew  the  reins  a  little  too 
tightly  in  his  righteous  wrath,  and  the  mare  reared 


304  Flamsted  Quarries 

suddenly.  "What  the  dev  —  whoa,  there  Kitty,  what 
you  about?" 

He  calmed  the  resentful  beast,  and  they  neared  the 
house  in  The  Gore  at  a  quick  trot. 

"You  don't  think  she  has  ever  spoken  to  any  one 
before  —  not  so,  do  you,  Tave  ?  not  to  Louis  ever  ?  — 

"No,  I  don't,  Aurora.  Louis  Champney  wouldn't 
have  stood  that  —  I  know  him  well  enough  for  that ; 
but  she  might  have  hinted  at  a  something,  and  it's  my 
belief  she  did.  But  don't  you  fret,  Aurora;  she'll 
never  speak  again  —  I  'd  take  my  oath  on  that  —  and 
if  I  dared,  I'd  say  I  wish  Almighty  God  would  strike 
her  dumb  for  saying  what  she  has." 

They  had  reached  the  house.  She  lifted  her  face  to 
the  light  burning  in  her  bedroom. 

"Oh,  my  boy  —  my  boy—  '  she  moaned  beneath 
her  breath.  Octavius  helped  her  out,  and  holding  the 
reins  in  one  hand,  with  the  other  supported  her  to  the 
steps;  her  knees  gave  beneath  her.  —  "Oh,  where  is 
he  to-night  —  what  shall  I  do  !  —  Think  for  me,  Tave, 
act  for  me,  or  I  shall  go  mad  —  " 

Octavius  leaned  to  the  carriage  and  threw  the  reins 
around  the  whipstock. 

"Aurora,"  he  grasped  her  firmly  by  the  arm,  "give 
me  the  key." 

She  handed  it  to  him ;  he  opened  the  door ;  led  her 
in;  called  loudly  for  Ellen;  and  when  the  frightened 
girl  came  hurrying  down  from  her  room,  he  bade  her 
see  to  Mrs.  Googe  while  he  went  for  the  doctor. 


Xv^II 

"  f"~| "^HE  trouble  is  she  has  borne  up  too  long." 

The  doctor  was  talking  to  Father  Honore 
JL       while  untying  the  horse  from  the  hitching- 
post  at  the  kitchen  porch. 

"She  has  stood  it  longer  than  I  thought  she  could; 
but  without  the  necessary  sleep  even  her  strong  con 
stitution  and  splendid  physique  can't  supply  sufficient 
nerve  force  to  withstand  such  a  strain  —  it 's  fearful. 
Something  had  to  give  somewhere.  Practically  she 
hasn't  slept  for  over  three  weeks,  and,  what's  more, 
she  won't  sleep  till  —  she  knows  one  way  or  the  other. 
I  can't  give  her  opiates,  for  the  strain  has  weakened  her 
heart  —  I  mean  functionally."  He  stepped  into  the 
carriage.  "You  haven't  heard  anything  since  yester 
day  morning,  have  you?" 

"No;  but  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  now  he  has  put 
them  off  the  track  and  got  them  over  the  border,  he 
will  make  for  New  York  again.  It's  my  belief  he  will 
try  to  get  out  of  the  country  by  that  door  instead  of  by 
way  of  Canada." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that."  He  gathered  up  the  reins, 
and,  leaning  forward  from  the  hood,  looked  earnestly 
into  the  priest's  eyes.  "Make  her  talk  if  you  can  - 
it's  her  only  salvation.  She  has  n't  opened  her  lips  to 
me,  and  till  she  speaks  out  —  you  understand  —  I  can 
do  nothing.  The  fever  is  only  the  result  of  the  nerve- 
strain." 

"I  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  help  her.    I  may  as 


306  Flamsted  Quarries 

well  tell  you  now  —  but  I  'd  like  it  to  remain  be 
tween  ourselves,  of  course  I  've  told  the  Colonel  - 
that  I  determined  last  night  to  go  down  to  New  York 
and  see  if  I  can  accomplish  anything.  I  shall  have 
two  private  detectives  there  to  work  with  me.  You 
know  the  city  agency  has  its  men  out  there  already?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  thought  all  the  force  was  centred 
here  in  this  State  and  on  the  Canada  line.  It  strikes 
me  that  if  she  could  know  you  were  going  —  and  for 
what  —  she  might  speak.  You  might  try  that,  and 
let  me  know  the  result. 

"I  will." 

The  doctor  drove  off.  Father  Honore  stood  for  a 
few  minutes  on  the  back  porch;  he  was  thinking  con- 
centratedly :  —  How  best  could  he  approach  the  stricken 
mother  and  acquaint  her  with  his  decision  to  search  for 
her  son? 

He  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  a  gentle  voice  speak 
ing  in  French : 

"Good-morning,  Father  Honore";  how  is  Mrs. 
Googe?  I  have  just  heard  of  her  illness." 

It  was  Sister  Ste.  Croix  from  the  sisterhood  home  in 
The  Gore. 

The  crisp  morning  air  tinged  with  a  slight  color  her 
wrinkled  and  furrowed  cheeks;  her  eyelids,  also,  were 
horribly  wrinkled,  as  could  be  plainly  seen  when  they 
drooped  heavily  over  the  dark  blue  eyes.  Yet  .Sister 
Ste.  Croix  was  still  in  middle  life. 

"There  is  every  cause  for  great  anxiety,  I  grieve  to 
say.  The  doctor  has  just  gone." 

"Who  is  with  her,  do  you  know?" 

"Mrs.  Caukins,  so  Ellen  says." 
"Do  you  think  she  would  object  to  having  me  nurse 
her  for  a  while?     She  has  been  so  lovely  to  me  ever 


Flamsted  Quarries  307 

since  I  came  here,  and  in  one  way  and  another  we  have 
been  much  together.  I  have  tried  again  and  again  to 
see  her  during  these  dreadful  weeks,  but  she  has  steadily 
refused  to  see  me  or  any  of  us  —  just  shut  herself  out 
from  her  friends." 

"I  wish  she  would  have  you  about  her;  it  would  do 
her  good;  and  surely  Mrs.  Caukins  can't  leave  her 
household  cares  to  stay  with  her  long,  nor  can  she  be 
running  back  and  forth  to  attend  to  her.  I  am  going 
to  make  the  attempt  to  see  her,  and  if  I  succeed  I  will 
tell  her  that  you  are  ready  to  come  at  any  minute  — 
and  only  waiting  to  come  to  her." 

"Do;  and  won't  you  tell  Ellen  I  will  come  down 
and  see  her  this  afternoon  ?  Poor  girl,  she  has  been  so 
terrified  with  the  events  of  these  last  weeks  that  I 
have  feared  she  would  not  stay.  If  I'm  here,  I  feel 
sure  she  would  remain." 

"  If  Mrs.  Googe  will  not  heed  your  request,  I  do  hope 
you  will  make  it  your  mission  work  to  induce  Ellen  to 
stay." 

"Indeed,  I  will;  I  thought  she  might  stay  the  more 
willingly  if  I  were  with  her." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  Father  Honore*  said  heartily. 

"Are  you  going  in  now?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  please  tell  Ellen  that  if  Mrs.  Googe  wants 
me,  she  is  to  come  up  at  once  to  tell  me.  Good 
morning." 

She  walked  rapidly  down  the  road  beside  the  house. 
Father  Honore  turned  to  look  after  her.  How  many, 
many  lives  there  were  like  that !  —  unselfish,  sacrific 
ing,  loving,  helpful,  yet  unknown,  unthought  of.  He 
watched  the  slight  figure,  the  shoulders  bowed  already 
a  little,  but  the  step  still  firm  and  light,  till  it  passed  from 


308  Flamsted  Quarries 

sight.  Then  he  entered  the  kitchen  and  encountered 
Mrs.  Caukins. 

"I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  any  living  soul  as  I  am 
you,  Father  Honore,"  was  her  greeting;  she  looked  up 
from  the  lemon  she  was  squeezing;  "I  don't  dare  to 
leave  her  till  she  gets  a  regular  nurse.  It's  enough  to 
break  your  heart  to  see  her  lying  there  staring  straight 
before  her  and  not  saying  a  word  —  not  even  to  the 
doctor.  I  told  the  Colonel  when  he  was  here  a  little 
while  ago  that  I  couldn't  stand  it  much  longer;  it's 
getting  on  my  nerves  —  if  she  'd  only  say  something,  I 
don't  care  what!" 

She  paused  in  concocting  the  lemonade  to  wipe  her 
eyes  on  a  corner  of  her  apron. 

"Mrs.  Caukins,  I  wish  you  would  say  to  Mrs.  Googe 
that  I  am  here  and  would  like  to  speak  with  her  before 
I  leave  town  this  afternoon.  You  might  say  I  expect 
to  be  away  for  a  few  days  and  it  is  necessary  that  I 
should  see  her  now." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  going  to  leave  us 
right  in  the  lurch,  'fore  we  know  anything  about  Champ- 
ney !  —  Why,  what  will  the  Colonel  do  without  you  ? 
You  've  been  his  right  hand  man.  He 's  all  broken  up ; 
that  one  night's  work  nearly  killed  him,  and  he  has  n't 
seemed  himself  since  —  " 

Father  Honore  interrupted  this  flow  of  ejaculatory 
torrent. 

"I've  spoken  to  the  Colonel  about  my  going,  Mrs. 
Caukins.  He  agrees  with  me  that  no  harm  can  come 
of  my  leaving  here  for  a  few  days  just  at  this  time." 

"I'll  tell  her,  Father  Honore;  I'm  going  up  this 
minute  with  the  lemonade;  but  it's  ten  to  one  she  won't 
see  you;  she  wouldn't  see  the  rector  last  week  —  oh, 
dear  me!"  She  groaned  and  left  the  room. 


Flamsted  Quarries  309 

She  was  back  again  in  a  few  minutes,  her  eyes  wide 
with  excitement. 

"She  says  you  can  come  up,  Father  Honore,  and 
you'd  better  go  up  quick  before  she  gets  a  chance  to 
change  her  mind." 

He  went  without  a  word.  When  Mrs.  Caukins  heard 
him  on  the  stair  and  caught  the  sound  of  his  rap  on 
the  door,  she  turned  to  Ellen  and  spoke  emphatically, 
but  with  trembling  lips : 

"I  don't  believe  the  archangel  Gabriel  himself  could 
look  at  you  more  comforting  than  Father  Honore  does ; 
if  he  can't  help  her,  the  Lord  himself  can't,  and  I  don't 
mean  that  for  blasphemy  either.  Poor  soul  —  poor 
soul  "  —  she  wiped  the  tears  that  were  rolling  down 
her  cheeks,  —  "here  I  am  the  mother  of  eight  children 
and  never  had  to  lose  a  night's  sleep  on  account  of 
their  not  doing  right,  and  here's  Aurora  with  her  one 
and  can't  sleep  nor  eat  for  the  shame  and  trouble  he's 
brought  on  her  and  all  of  us  —  for  I'm  a  Googe.  Life 
seems  sometimes  to  get  topsy-turvy,  and  I  for  one  can't 
make  head  nor  tail  of  it.  The  Colonel 's  always  talking 
about  Nature's  'levelling  up,'  but  I  don't  see  any 
'levelling';  seems  to  me  as  if  she  was  turning  every 
thing  up  on  edge  pretty  generally.  —  Give  me  that  rice 
I  saw  in  the  pantry,  Ellen;  I'm  going  to  make  her  a 
little  broth ;  I  Ve  got  a  nice  foreshoulder  piece  at  home, 
and  it  will  be  just  the  thing." 

Ellen,  rejoicing  in  such  talkative  companionship, 
after  the  three  weeks  of  dreadful  silence  in  the  house, 
did  her  bidding,  at  the  same  time  taking  occasion  to 
ask  some  questions  on  her  own  part,  among  them  one 
which  set  Mrs.  Caukins  speculating  for  a  week:  "Who 
do  you  suppose  killed  Rag?" 

Aurora  was  in  bed,  but  propped  to  a  sitting  position 


310  Flamsted  Quarries 

by  pillows.  When  Father  Honore  entered  she  started 
forward. 

"Have  you  heard  anything?"  Her  voice  was  weak 
from  physical  exhaustion. 

"No,  Mrs.  Googe  —  " 

She  sank  back  on  the  pillows ;  he  drew  a  chair  to  the 
bedside. 

" — But  I  have  decided  to  go  down  to  New  York 
and  search  for  myself.  I  have  a  feeling  he  is  there,  not 
in  Maine  or  Canada;  and  I  know  that  city  from  Wash 
ington  Heights  to  the  Battery." 

"You  think  he'll  be  found?"  She  could  scarcely 
articulate  the  words ;  some  terror  had  her  by  the  throat ; 
her  eyes  showed  deadly  fear. 

"Yes,  I  think  he  will." 

"  But  she  won't  do  anything  —  I  —  I  went  to  her  — 

"Don't  exert  yourself  too  much,  Mrs.  Googe,  but  if 
you  can  tell  me  whom  you  mean,  to  whom  you  have 
applied,  it  might  help  me  to  act  understandingly." 

"To  his  aunt  —  I  went  last  night." 

"Mrs.  Champney?" 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  made  a  motion  of  assent. 

"And  she  will  do  nothing?" 

"No." 

"I  fail  to  understand  this.  Surely  she  might  give  of 
her  abundance  to  save  one  who  is  of  her  own  blood. 
Would  it  do  any  good,  do  you  think,  for  me  to  see  her  ? 
I'll  gladly  go." 

She  shook  her  head.    "You  don't  understand." 

He  waited  in  silence  for  some  further  word;  for  her 
t-'  open  her  eyes  at  least.  But  none  was  forthcoming; 
the  eyes  remained  closed.  After  a  while  he  said  gently : 

"Perhaps  I  might  understand,  if  you  felt  willing  to 
tell  me,  if  the  effort  is  not  too  great." 


Flamsted  Quarries  3 1 1 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  apathetically 
on  the  strong  helpful  face. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  understand  —  I  don't  know  — 
you're  not  a  woman  — 

"No,  but  I  am  human,  Mrs.  Googe;  and  human 
sympathy  is  a  great  enlightener." 

"The  weight  here  —  and  here!"  She  raised  one 
hand  to  her  head,  the  other  she  laid  over  her  heart.  "  If 
I  could  get  rid  of  that  for  one  hour  —  I  should  be  strong 
again  —  to  live  —  to  endure." 

Father  Honore  was  silent.  He  knew  the  long  pent 
stream  of  grief  and  misery  must  flow  in  its  own  channel 
when  once  it  should  burst  its  bounds. 

"My  son  must  never  know  —  you  will  give  me  your 
word?" 

"I  give  you  my  word,  Mrs.  Googe." 

She  leaned  forward  from  her  pillows,  looked  anxiously 
at  the  door,  which  was  open  into  the  hall,  then 
whispered : 

"  She  said  —  my  son  was  Louis  Champney's  —  bas 
tard  ;  —  you  don't  believe  it,  do  you  ?  " 

For  the  space  of  a  second  Father  Honore  shrank 
within  himself.  He  could  not  tell  at  that  moment 
whether  he  had  here  to  do  with  an  overwrought  brain, 
with  a  mind  obsessed,  or  with  an  awful  fact.  But  he 
answered  without  hesitation  and  out  of  his  inmost 
conviction : 

"No,  I  do  not  believe  it,  Mrs.  Googe." 

"I  thought  you  would  n't  —  Octavius  did  n't."  She 
sighed  profoundly  as  if  relieved  from  pain.  "That's 
why  she  hates  me  —  why  she  will  not  help." 

"  In  that  case  I  will  go  to  Mr.  Van  Ostend.  I  asked 
to  see  you  that  I  might  tell  you  this." 

"Will  you  —  oh,  will  you?"     She  sighed  again— a 


312  Flamsted  Quarries 

sigh  of  great  physical  relief,  for  she  placed  her  hand 
again  over  her  heart,  pressing  it  hard. 

"That  helps  here,"  she  said,  passing  her  other  hand 
over  her  forehead;  "perhaps  I  can  tell  you  now,  before 
you  go  —  perhaps  it  will  help  more." 

Her  voice  grew  stronger  with  every  full  breath  she 
was  now  able  to  draw.  Gradually  a  look  of  compre 
hension  replaced  the  apathetic  stare.  She  looked 
squarely  at  the  priest  for  the  first  time  since  his  entrance. 
Father  Honore  could  but  wonder  if  the  thought 
behind  that  look  would  find  adequate  expression. 

"You  haven't  said  'God'  to  me  once  since  that  — 
that  night.     Don't  speak  to  me  about  Him  now,  will 
you  ?    He 's  too  far  away  —  it  does  n't  mean  anything 
to  me." 

"Mrs.  Googe,  there  comes  a  time  in  most  lives  when 
God  seems  so  far  away  that  we  can  find  Him  only 
through  the  Human ;  —  perhaps  such  a  time  has  come 
in  your  life." 

"I  don't  know;  I  never  thought  much  about  that. 
But  —  my  god  was  human,  oh,  for  so  many  years !  —  I 
loved  Louis  Champney." 

Again  there  was  a  long  inhalation  and  exhalation. 
It  seemed  as  if  each  admission,  which  she  forced  herself 
to  make,  loosened  more  and  more  the  tension  of  the  long- 
racked  nerves;  as  a  result  the  muscles  of  the  throat 
relaxed,  the  articulation  grew  distinct,  the  voice  stronger. 

" —  And  he  loved  me  —  better  than  life  itself.  I  was 
so  young  when  it  began  —  only  sixteen.  My  husband's 
father  took  me  into  his  home  then  to  bring  up;  I  was 
an  orphan.  And  Louis  Champney  loved  me  then  and 
always  —  but  Almeda  Googe,  my  husband's  sister, 
loved  him  too  —  in  her  way.  Her  own  father  could  do 
nothing  with  her  awful  will  —  it  crushed  everybody 


Flamsted  Quarries  3  i  3 

that  came  in  contact  with  it  —  that  opposed  it ;  it  crushed 
me  —  and  in  the  end,  Louis." 

She  took  a  little  of  the  lemonade  to  moisten  her  lips 
and  went  on : 

"  She  was  twelve  years  older  than  he.  She  took  him 
when  he  was  in  college;  worked  on  him,  lied  to  him 
about  me;  told  him  I  loved  her  brother;  worked  back 
wards,  fonvards,  underhanded  —  any  way  to  influence 
him  against  me  and  get  her  hold  upon  him.  He  went 
to  Europe;  she  followed;  wrote  lying  letters  to  her 
brother  —  said  she  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Louis 
before  her  return ;  told  Louis  I  was  going  to  marry  her 
brother,  Warren  Googe  —  in  the  end  she  had  her  way, 
and  always  has  had  it,  and  will  have  it.  I  married  War 
ren  Googe;  she  was  forty  when  she  married  Louis  at 
twenty-eight." 

She  paused,  straightened  herself.  Something  like 
animation  came  into  her  face. 

"  It  does  me  good  to  speak  —  at  last.  I  've  never 
spoken  in  all  these  years  —  and  I  can  tell  you.  My 
child  was  born  seven  months  after  my  husband's  death, 
Louis  Champney  came  to  see  me  then  —  up  here,  in 
this  room ;  it  was  the  first  time  we  had  dared  to  see  each 
other  alone  —  but  the  baby  lay  beside  me ;  that  kept  us. 
He  said  but  little;  but  he  took  up  the  child  and  looked 
at  him ;  then  he  turned  to  me.  '  This  should  have  been 
our  son,  Aurora,'  he  said,  and  I  —  oh;  what  will  you 
think  of  me !"  She  dropped  her  head  into  her  hands. 

"I  knew  in  my  heart  that  during  all  those  months  I 
was  carrying  Warren  Googe's  child,  I  had  only  one 
thought :  '  Oh,  if  it  were  only  Louis'  and  mine  ! '  And 
because  I  was  a  widow,  I  felt  free  to  dwell  upon  that 
one  thought  night  and  day.  Louis'  face  was  always 
before  me.  I  came  in  thought  to  look  upon  him  as  the 


314  Flamsted  Quarries 

true  father  of  my  boy  —  not  that  other  for  whom  I  had 
had  no  love.  And  I  took  great  comfort  in  that  thought 
—  and  —  and  —  my  boy  is  the  living  image  of  Louis 
Champney." 

She  withdrew  her  hands,  clasping  them  nervously 
and  rubbing  them  in  each  other. 

"Oh,  I  sinned,  I  sinned  in  thought,  and  I've  been 
punished,  but  there  was  never  anything  more  —  and 
last  night  I  had  to  hear  that  from  her!" 

For  a  moment  the  look  of  deadly  fear  returned  to 
the  eyes,  but  only  for  a  moment;  her  hands  continued 
to  work  nervously. 

"Never  anything  more;  only  that  day  when  he  took 
my  boy  in  his  arms  and  said  what  he  did,  we  both  knew 
we  could  not  see  much  of  each  other  for  the  rest  of  our 
lives  —  that 's  why  I've  kept  so  much  to  myself.  He 
kissed  the  baby  then,  laid  him  in  my  arms  and,  stooping, 
kissed  me  once  —  only  once  —  I've  lived  on  that  — 
and  said :  '  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  this  boy. '  And  —  and  " 
-her  lips  trembled  for  the  first  time  —  "that  little 
baby,  as  it  lay  on  my  breast,  saved  us  both.  It  was 
renunciation  —  but  it  made  me  hard ;  it  killed  Louis. 

"I  saw  Louis  seldom  and  always  in  the  presence  of 
my  boy.  But  Almeda  Champney  was  not  satisfied  with 
what  she  had  done;  she  transferred  her  jealousy  to  my 
son.  She  was  jealous  of  every  word  Louis  spoke  to  him ; 
jealous  of  every  hour  he  was  with  him.  When  Louis 
died,  still  young  —  my  son  was  left  unprovided  for. 
That  was  Almeda  Champney 's  work  —  she  would  n't 
have  it. 

"Then  I  sold  the  first  quarry  for  means  to  send 
Champney  to  college;  and  I  sold  the  rest  in  order  to 
start  him  well  in  business,  in  the  world.  But  I  know  that 
at  the  bottom  of  my  ambition  for  him,  wras  the  desire 


Flamsted  Quarries  315 

that  he  might  succeed  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  aunt 
had  kept  from  him  the  property  which  Louis  Champney 
intended  to  be  his.  My  ambition  has  been  overween 
ing  for  Champney's  material  success  —  I  have  urged  him 
on,  when  I  should  have  restrained.  I  have  aided  him 
to  the  extent  of  my  ability  to  attain  his  end.  I  longed 
to  see  him  in  a  position  that,  financially,  would  far  out 
shine  hers.  I  felt  it  would  compensate  in  part.  I 
loved  my  son  —  and  I  loved  in  him  Louis  Champney. 
I  alone  am  to  blame  for  what  has  come  of  it  —  I  —  his 
mother." 

Her  lips  trembled  excessively.  She  waited  to  control 
them  before  she  could  continue. 

"Last  night,  when  I  begged  her  to  help  me,  she  an 
swered  me  with  what  I  told  you.  I  could  bear  no 
more  —  " 

She  leaned  back  on  the  pillows,  exhausted  for  a  while 
with  her  great  effort,  but  the  light  of  renewed  life  shone 
from  every  feature. 

"  I  am  better  now,"  she  said,  turning  to  Father  Honore* 
the  dark  hollow  eyes  so  full  of  gratitude  that  the  priest 
looked  away  from  her. 

While  this  page  in  human  history  was  being  laid 
open  before  him,  Father  Honore  said  nothing.  The 
confession  it  contained  was  so  awful  in  its  still  depths 
of  pure  passion,  so  far-reaching  in  its  effects  on  a  human 
soul,  that  he  felt  suddenly  the  utter  insignificance  of  his 
own  existence,  the  futility  of  all  words,  the  meagreness 
of  all  sympathetic  expression.  And  he  was  honest 
enough  to  withhold  all  attempt  at  such. 

"  I  fear  you  are  very  tired,"  he  said,  and  rose  to  go. 

"No,  no;  I  am  better  already.  The  telling  has 
done  me  such  good.  I  shall  soon  be  up  and  about. 
When  do  you  go?" 


3 1  6  Flamsted  Quarries 

"This  afternoon;  and  you  may  expect  telegrams  from 
me  at  almost  any  time;  so  don't  be  alarmed  simply 
because  I  send  them.  I  thought  you  would  prefer  to 
know  from  day  to  day." 

"You  are  good  —  but  I  can  say  nothing."  The 
tears  welled  at  last  and  overflowed  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Don't  say  that  —  I  beg  of  you."  He  spoke  almost 
sharply,  as  if  hurt  physically.  "Nothing  is  needed  — 
and  I  hope  you  will  let  Sister  Ste.  Croix  come  in  for  a 
few  days  and  care  for  you.  She  wants  to  come." 

"Tell  her  to  come.  I  think  I  am  willing  to  see  any 
one  now  —  something  has  given  way  here; "  she  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  head;  "it's  a  great  relief." 

"Good-bye."  He  held  out  his  hand  and  she  placed 
hers  in  it;  the  tears  kept  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

"Tell  my  darling  boy,  when  you  see  him,  that  it  was 
my  fault  —  and  I  love  him  so  —  oh,  how  I  love  him  — 
Her  voice  broke  in  a  sob. 

Father  Honore  left  the  room  to  cover  his  emotion. 
He  spoke  to  Ellen  from  the  hall,  and  went  out  at  the 
front  door  in  order  to  avoid  Mrs.  Caukins.  He  had 
need  to  be  alone. 

That  afternoon  at  the  station,  Octavius  Buzzbymet 
him  on  the  platform. 

"Mr.  Buzzby,  is  there  any  truth  in  the  rumor  I  heard, 
as  I  came  to  the  train,  that  Mrs.  Champney  has  had  a 
stroke?" 

The  face  of  Champ-au-Haut's  factotum  worked 
strangely  before  he  made  answer. 

"Yes,  she 's  had  a  slight  shock.  The  doctor  told  me 
this  morning  that  he  knew  she'd  had  the  first  one  over 
three  years  ago ;  this  is  the  second.  I  've  come  down 
for  a  nurse  he  telegraphed  for;  I  expect  her  on  the 


Flamsted  Quarries  317 

next  train  up  —  and,  Father  Honore —  "  he  hesitated; 
his  hands  were  working  nervously  in  each  other. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Buzzby?" 

"  I  come  down  to  see  you,  too,  on  purpose  —  " 

"To  see  me?"  Father  Honore  looked  his  surprise; 
his  thoughts  leaped  to  a  possible  demand  on  Mrs. 
Champney's  part  for  his  presence  at  Champ-au-Haut 
—  she  might  have  repented  her  words,  changed  her 
mind;  might  be  ready  to  help  her  nephew.  In  that 
case,  he  would  wait  for  the  midnight  train. 

The  man  of  Maine's  face  was  working  painfully 
again ;  he  was  struggling  for  control ;  his  feelings  were 
deep,  tender,  loyal ;  he  was  capable  of  any  sacrifice  for 
a  friend. 

"Father  Honore  —  I  don't  want  to  butt  in  anywhere 
—  into  what  ain't  my  business,  but  I  do  want  to  know 
if  you  're  going  to  New  York  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"Are  you  going  to  try  to  see  him?" 

"  I  'm  going  to  try  to  find  him  —  for  his  mother's  sake 
and  his  own." 

Octavius  Buzzby  grasped  his  hand  and  wrung  it. 
"God  bless  you!"  He  fumbled  with  his  left  hand  in 
his  breast  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  package.  "Here, 
you  take  this  —  it 's  honest  money,  all  mine  —  you  use 
it  for  Champney  —  to  help  out,  you  know,  in  any  way 
you  see  fit." 

Father  Honore"  was  so  moved  he  could  not  speak  at 
once.  . 

"If  Mr.  Googe  could  know  what  a  friend  he  has  in 
you,  Mr.  Buzzby,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  don't  think  he 
could  wholly  despair,  whatever  might  come,"  —  he 
pressed  the  package  back  into  Octavius'  hand,  —  "  keep 
it  with  you,  it's  safer;  and  I  promise  you  if  I  need  it  I 


318  Flamsted  Quarries 

will  call  on  you."  Suddenly  his  indignation  got  the 
better  of  him  —  "  But  this  is  outrageous ! " — he  spoke  in 
a  low  voice  but  vehemently,  — /'Mrs.  Champney  is  abun 
dantly  able  to  do  this  for  her  nephew,  whereas  you  —  " 

"You're  right,  sir,  it's  a  damned  outrage  —  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Father  Honore,  I  had  n't  ought  to  said 
that,  but  I've  seen  so  much,  and  I  'm  all  broke  up,  I 
guess,  with  what  I've  been  through  since  yesterday. 
I  went  to  her  myself  then  and  made  bold  to  ask  her  to 
help  with  her  riches  that 's  bringing  her  in  eight  per 
cent,  and  told  her  some  plain  truths — " 

"You  went  — !"  Father  Honore  exclaimed;  he  had 
almost  said  "  too,"  but  caught  himself  in  time. 

"  Yes,  I  went,  and  all  I  got  was  an  insult  for  my  pains. 
She 's  a  she-dev  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  it  would  serve 
me  right  if  the  Almighty  struck  me  dumb  with  a  stroke 
like  hers,  only  hers  don't  affect  her  speech  any,  Aileen 
says  —  I  guess  her  tongue 's  insured  against  shock  for 
life,  but  it  had  n't  ought  to  be,  sir,  not  after  the  blas 
phemy  it's  uttered.  But  I  ain't  the  one  to  throw  stones, 
not  after  what  I  've  just  said  in  your  presence,  sir,  and 
I  do  beg  your  pardon,  I  know  what 's  due  to  the  clo— 

The  train,  rounding  the  curve,  whistled  deafeningly. 

Father  Honore  grasped  both  Octavius'  hands;  held 
them  close  in  a  firm  cordial  grip;  looked  straight  into 
the  small  brown  eyes  that  were  filled  with  tears,  the 
result  of  pure  nervousness. 

"We  men  understand  each  other,  Mr.  Buzzby;  no 
apology  is  necessary  —  let  me  have  your  prayers  while 
I  am  away,  I  shall  need  them  —  good-bye — "  He 
entered  the  car. 

Octavius  Buzzby  lifted  his  hat  and  stood  bareheaded 
on  the  platform  till  the  train  drew  out. 


PART   FOURTH 

Oblivion 


PART   FOURTH 

Oblivion 


"  T  HAVE  called  to  see  Mr.  Van  Ostend,  by  ap 
pointment,"  said  Father  Honore  to  the  footman 

JL  in  attendance  at  the  door  of  the  mansion  on 
the  Avenue. 

He  was  shown  into  the  library.  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
rose  from  the  armchair  to  greet  him. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Father  HonoreV'  He  shook 
hands  cordially  and  drew  up  a  chair  opposite  to  his 
own  before  the  blazing  hearth.  "Be  seated;  I  have 
given  orders  that  we  are  not  to  be  interrupted.  I  can 
not  pretend  ignorance  as  to  the  cause  of  your  coming  — 
a  sad,  bad  matter  for  us  all.  Have  you  any  news?" 

"Only  that  he  is  here  in  New  York." 

Mr.  Van  Ostend  looked  startled.  "Here?  Since 
when?  My  latest  advice  was  this  afternoon  from  the 
Maine  detectives." 

"I  heard  yesterday  from  headquarters  that  he  had 
been  traced  here,  but  he  must  be  in  hiding  somewhere ; 
thus  far  they've  found  no  trace  of  him.  I  felt  sure, 
from  the  very  first,  he  would  return;  that  is  why  I 
came  down.  He  could  n't  avoid  detection  any  longer 
in  the  country,  nor  could  he  hold  out  another  week  in 
the  Maine  wilderness  —  no  man  could  stand  it  in 
this  weather." 


322  Flamsted  Quarries 

"How  long  have  you  been  here,  Father  Honore*?" 

"Three  days.  I  promised  Mrs.  Googe  to  do  what 
I  could  to  find  him;  the  mother  suffers  most." 

"I  know  —  I  know;  it's  awful  for  her;  but,  for 
God's  sake,  what  did  he  do  it  for !" 

"Why  do  we  all  sin  at  times?" 

"  Yes,  yes  —  I  know ;  that 's  your  point  of  view, 
but  that  does  not  answer  me  in  this  case.  He  had 
every  opportunity  to  work  along  legitimate  lines 
towards  the  end  he  professed  to  wish  to  attain  —  and 
he  had  the  ability  to  attain  it;  I  know  this  from  my 
experience  with  him.  What  could  have  possessed  him 
to  put  himself  in  the  place  of  a  sneak  thief  —  he, 
born  a  gentleman,  with  Champney  blood  in  his 
veins?" 

Father  Honore*  did  not  answer  his  question  which 
was  more  an  indignant  ejaculation. 

"You  spoke  of  my  'point  of  view,'  Mr.  Van  Ostend. 
I  think  I  know  what  that  implies;  you  mean  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  priesthood?" 

The  man  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire-lighted 
hearth  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Yes,  just  that; 
but  I  intended  no  reflection  on  your  opinion;  perhaps 
I  ought  to  say  frankly,  that  it  implied  a  doubt  of  your 
powers  of  judgment  in  a  business  matter  like  the  one 
in  question.  Naturally,  it  does  not  lie  in  your 
line." 

Father  Honore  smiled  a  little  sadly.  "Perhaps  you 
may  recall  that  old  saying  of  the  Jew,  Nathan  the  Wise : 
'A  man  is  a  man  before  he  is  either  Christian  or  Jew.' 
And  we  are  men,  Mr.  Van  Ostend;  men  primarily 
before  we  are  either  financier  or  priest.  Let  us  speak 
as  man  to  man;  put  aside  all  points  of  view  entailed 
by  difference  of  training,  and  meet  on  the  common 


Flamsted  Quarries  323 

ground  of  our  manhood.  I  am  sure  the  perspective 
and  retrospective  ought  to  be  in  the  same  line  of  vision 
from  that  standpoint." 

Mr.  Van  Ostend  was  silent.  He  was  thinking 
deeply.  The  priest  saw  this,  and  waited  for  the  answer 
which  he  felt  sure  would  be  well  thought  out  before  it 
found  expression.  He  spoke  at  last,  slowly,  weighing 
his  words: 

"I  am  questioning  whether,  with  the  best  intentions 
as  men  to  meet  in  the  common  plane  of  our  manhood, 
to  see  from  thence  alike  in  a  certain  direction,  you  and 
I,  at  our  age,  can  escape  from  the  moulded  lines  of  our 
training  into  that  common  plane." 

"I  think  we  can  if  we  keep  to  the  fundamentals  of 
life." 

"We  can  but  try;  but  there  must  be  then  an  abso 
lutely  unclouded  expression  of  individual  opinion  on 
the  part  of  each."  His  assertion  implied  both  a  chal 
lenge  and  a  doubt.  "What  is  your  idea  of  the  reason 
for  his  succumbing  to  such  a  temptation?" 

"I  believe  it  was  the  love  of  money  and  the  power 
its  acquisition  carries  with  it.  I  know,  too,  that  Mrs. 
Googe  blames  herself  for  having  fostered  this  ambi 
tion  in  him.  She  would  only  too  gladly  place  anything 
that  is  hers  to  make  good,  but  there  is  nothing  left; 
it  all  went."  He  straightened  himself.  "What  I  have 
come  to  you  for,  Mr.  Van  Ostend,  is  to  ask  you  one 
direct  question:  Are  you  willing  to  make  good  the 
amount  of  the  embezzlement  to  the  syndicate  and  save 
prosecution  in  this  special  case  —  save  the  man,  Champ- 
ney  Googe,  and  so  give  him  another  chance  in  life? 
You  know,  but  not  so  well,  perhaps,  as  I,  what  years  in 
a  penitentiary  mean  for  a  man  when  he  leaves  it." 

"Are  you  aware  that  you  are  asking  me  to  put  a 


324  Flamsted  Quarries 

premium  on  crime?"  Mr.  Van  Ostend  asked  coldly. 
He  looked  at  the  priest  as  if  he  thought  he  had  taken 
leave  of  his  senses. 

"That  is  one  way  of  putting  it,  I  admit;  but  there 
is  another.  Let  me  put  it  to  you :  if  you  had  had  a  son; 
if  he  were  fatherless;  if  he  had  fallen  through  emula 
tion  of  other  men,  would  n't  you  like  to  know  that 
some  man  might  lend  a  hand  for  the  sake  of  the 
mother?" 

"I  don't  know.  Stealing  is  stealing,  whether  my 
son  were  the  thief  or  another  man's.  Why  should  n't 
a  man  take  his  punishment?  You  know  the  every 
day  argument :  the  man  who  steals  a  loaf  of  bread  gets 
nine  months,  and  the  man  who  steals  a  hundred  thou 
sand  gets  clear.  If  the  law  is  for  the  one  and  not  for 
the  other,  the  result  is,  logically,  anarchy.  Besides, 
the  man,  not  he  of  the  street  who  steals  because  he  is 
hungry,  but  the  one  who  has  every  advantage  of  educa 
tion  and  environment  to  make  his  way  right  in  life, 
goes  wrong  knowingly.  Are  we  in  this  case  to  coddle, 
to  sympathize,  to  let  ourselves  be  led  into  philanthropic 
drivel  over  'judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged'?  I  can 
not  see  it  so." 

"You  are  right  in  your  reasoning,  but  you  are  rea 
soning  according  to  the  common  law,  man-made ;  and 
I  said  we  could  agree  only  if  we  keep  to  the  funda 
mentals  of  life." 

"Well,  if  the  law  is  n't  a  fundamental,  what  is?" 

"I  heard  Bishop  Brooks  once  say:  'The  Bible  was 
before  ever  it  was  written.'  And  perhaps  I  can  best 
answer  your  question  by  saying  the  law  of  the  human 
existed  before  the  law  of  which  you  are  thinking  was 
ever  written.  Love,  mercy,  long-suffering  were  before 
the  law  formulated  'an  eye  for  an  eye,'  or  this  world 


Flamsted  Quarries  325 

could  not  have  existed  to  the  present  time  for  you 
and  me.  It  is  in  recognition  of  that,  in  dealing  with 
the  human,  that  I  make  my  appeal  to  you  —  for  the 
mother,  first  and  foremost,  who  suffers  through  the 
son,  her  first-born  and  only  child,  as  your  daughter  is 
your  only — "  Mr.  Van  Ostend  interrupted  him. 

"I  must  beg  you,  Father  Honore,  not  to  bring  my 
daughter's  name  into  this  affair.  I  have  suffered 
enough  —  enough." 

"Mr.  Van  Ostend,  pardon  me  the  seeming  dis 
courtesy  in  your  own  house,  but  I  am  compelled  to 
mention  it.  After  you  have  given  your  final  decision 
to  my  importuning,  there  can  be  no  further  appeal. 
The  man,  if  living,  must  go  to  prison.  Mrs.  Champney 
positively  refuses  to  help  her  nephew  in  any  way.  She 
has  been  approached  twice  on  the  subject  of  advanc 
ing  four-fifths  of  the  hundred  thousand;  she  can  do 
it,  but  she  won't.  She  is  not  a  mother;  neither  has 
she  any  real  love  for  her  nephew,  for  she  refuses  to  aid 
him  in  his  extremity.  I  mentioned  your  daughter,  be 
cause  you  must  know  that  her  name  has  been  in  the 
past  connected  with  the  man  for  whom  I  am  asking 
the  boon  of  another  chance  in  life.  I  have  felt  con 
vinced  that  for  her  sake,  if  for  no  other,  you  would 
make  this  sacrifice." 

"My  daughter,  I  am  glad  to  inform  you,  never 
cared  for  the  man.  She  is  too  young,  too  undeveloped. 
It  is  the  one  thing  that  makes  it  possible  for  me  to 
contemplate  what  he  has  done  with  any  degree  of 
sanity.  Had  he  won  her  affections,  had  she  loved 
him  —  He  paused  •  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
proceed. 

"Thank  God  that  she  was  spared  that!"  Father 
Honore  ejaculated  under  his  breath.  Mr.  Van  Ostend, 


326  Flamsted  Quarries 

looking  at  him  keenly,  perceived  that  he  was  under 
the  influence  of  some  powerful  emotion.  He  turned 
to  him,  a  mute  question  on  his  lips.  Father  Honore 
answered  that  mute  query  with  intense  earnestness, 
by  repeating  what,  apparently,  he  had  said  to  himself : 

"I  thank  my  God  that  she  never  cared  for  him 
in  that  way,  for  otherwise  her  life  would  have  been 
wrecked;  nor  could  you,  who  wTould  lay  down  your 
life  for  her  happiness,  have  spared  or  saved  her,  —  her 
young  affections,  her  young  faith  and  joy  in  life,  all 
shattered,  and  Life  the  iconoclast !  That  is  the  saddest 
part  of  it.  It  is  women  who  suffer  most  and  always. 
In  making  this  appeal  to  you,  I  have  had  continually 
in  mind  his  mother,  and  you,  the  father  of  a  woman. 
I  know  how  your  pride  must  have  suffered  in  the 
knowledge  that  his  name,  even,  has  been  connected 
with  hers  —  but  your  suffering  is  as  naught  compared 
with  that  mother's  who,  at  this  very  moment,  is  waiting 
for  some  telegram  from  me  that  shall  tell  her  her  son 
is  found,  is  saved.  But  I  will  not  over  urge,  Mr.  Van 
Ostend.  If  you  feel  you  cannot  do  this,  that  it  is 
a  matter  of  principle  with  you  to  refuse,  there  is  no 
need  to  prolong  this  interview  which  is  painful  to  us 
both.  I  thank  you  for  the  time  you  have  given  me." 
He  rose  to  go.  Mr.  Van  Ostend  did  likewise. 

At  that  moment  a  girl's  joyous  voice  sounded  in  the 
hall  just  outside  the  door. 

"Oh,  never  mind  that,  Beales;  papa  never  con 
siders  me  an  interruption.  I'm  going  in,  anyway,  to 
say  good  night ;  I  don't  care  if  all  Wall  Street  is  there. 
Has  the  carriage  come?" 

There  was  audible  the  sound  of  a  subdued  protest; 
then  came  a  series  of  quick  taps  on  the  door  and  the 
sound  of  the  gay  voice  again: 


Flamsted  Quarries  327 

"Papa  —  just  a  minute  to  say  goodnight;  if  I 
can't  come  in,  do  you  come  out  and  give  me  a  kiss  — 
do  you  hear?" 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
stepped  quickly  to  the  door  and,  opening  it,  stood  on 
the  threshold.  Something  very  like  a  diaphanous  white 
cloud  enwrapped  him ;  two  thin  arms,  visible  through 
it,  went  suddenly  round  his  neck;  then  his  arms  en 
folded  her. 

"  Oh,  Papsy  dear,  don't  hug  me  so  hard !  You  '11 
crush  all  my  flowers.  Ben  sent  them;  wasn't  he  a 
dear?  I've  promised  him  the  cotillon  to-night  for 
them.  Good  night."  She  pecked  at  his  cheek  again 
as  he  released  her;  the  cloud  of  white  liberty  silk 
tulle  drifted  away  from  the  doorway  and  left  it  a 
blank. 

Mr.  Van  Ostend  closed  the  door;  came  back  to  the 
hearth;  stood  there,  his  arms  folded  tightly  over  his 
chest,  his  head  bowed.  For  a  few  minutes  neither 
man  spoke.  When  the  clock  on  the  mantel  chimed 
a  quarter  to  nine,  Father  Honore  made  a  movement 
to  go.  Mr.  Van  Ostend  turned  quickly  to  him  and 
put  out  a  detaining  hand. 

"May  I  ask  if  you  are  going  to  continue  the  search 
this  evening;  it's  a  bad  night." 

"Yes;  I've  had  the  feeling  that,  after  he  has  been 
so  long  in  hiding,  he  '11  have  to  come  out  —  he  must  be 
at  the  end  of  his  strength.  I  am  going  out  with  two 
detectives  now;  they  have  been  on  the  case  with  me. 
This  is  quite  apart  from  the  general  detective  agency's 
work." 

"Father  Honore*,"  Mr.  Van  Ostend  spoke  with 
apparent  effort,  "I  know  I  am  right  in  my  reasoning  — 
and  you  are  right  in  your  fundamentals.  We  both 


328  Flamsted  Quarries 

may  be  wrong  in  the  end,  you  in  appealing  to  me  for 
this  aid  to  restrain  prosecution,  and  I  in  giving  it. 
Time  alone  will  show  us.  But  if  we  are,  we  must  take 
the  consequences  of  our  act.  If,  by  yielding,  I  make 
it  easier  for  another  man  to  do  as  Champney  Googe 
has  done,  may  God  forgive  me;  I  could  never  forgive 
myself.  If  you,  in  asking  this,  have  erred  in  freeing 
from  his  punishment  a  man  who  deserves  every  bit 
he  can  get,  you  will  have  to  reckon  with  your  own  con 
science.  —  Don't  misunderstand  me.  No  spirit  of 
philanthropy  influences  me  in  my  act.  Don't  credit 
me  with  any  'love-to-man'  attitude.  I  am  going  to 
advance  the  sum  necessary  to  avoid  prosecution  if 
you  find  him;  but  I  do  it  solely  on  that  mother's  ac 
count,  and" —  he  hesitated  —  "because  I  don't  want 
her,  whom  you  have  just  seen,  connected,  even  re 
motely,  by  the  thought  of  what  a  penitentiary  term 
implies.  I  don't  want  to  entertain  the  thought  that 
even  the  hem  of  my  child's  garment  has  been  so  much 
as  touched  by  a  hand  that  will  work  at  hard  labor  for 
seven,  perhaps  fifteen,  years.  And  I  want  you  to  under 
stand  that,  in  yielding,  my  principle  remains  unchanged. 
I  owe  it  to  you  to  say  this  much,  for  you  have  dealt  with 
me  as  man  to  man." 

"Mr.  Van  Ostend,  we  may  both  be  in  the  wrong,  as 
you  say;  if  it  prove  so,  I  shall  be  the  first  to  acknowl 
edge  my  error  to  you.  My  one  thought  has  been  to 
save  that  mother  further  agony  and  to  give  a  man,  still 
young,  another  chance." 

"I've  understood  it  so." 

He  went  to  his  writing  table,  sat  down  at  it,  and,  for 
a  moment,  busied  himself  with  making  out  his  per 
sonal  check  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  payable 
to  the  Flamsted  Granite  Quarries  Company.  He 


Flamsted  Quarries  329 

handed  it  to  Father  Honore  to  look  at.  The  priest 
read  it. 

"Whatever  bail  is  needed,  if  an  arrest  should  follow 
now,"  said  Mr.  Van  Ostend  further  and  significantly, 
"I  will  be  responsible  for." 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  and  looked  understand- 
ingly  into  each  other's  eyes.  What  each  read  therein, 
what  each  felt  in  the  other's  palm  beats,  they  realized 
there  was  no  need  to  express  in  words. 

"Let  me  hear,  Father  Honore,  so  soon  as  you  learn 
anything  definite;  I'll  keep  you  posted  so  far  as  I 
hear." 

"  I  will.    Good  night,  Mr.  Van  Ostend." 

On  reaching  the  iron  gates  to  the  courtyard,  the 
priest  stepped  aside  to  give  unimpeded  passage  to  a 
carriage  just  leaving  the  house.  As  it  passed  him,  the 
electric  light  flashed  athwart  the  bowed  glass  front, 
already  dripping  with  sleet,  and  behind  it  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  girl's  delicate  face  that  rose  from  out  the 
folds  of  a  chinchilla  wrap,  like  a  flower  from  its  sheath. 
She  was  chatting  gaily  with  her  maid. 


II 

THE  night  was  wild.  New  York  can  show 
such  in  late  November.  A  gale  from  the 
north-east  was  driving  before  it  a  heavy  sleet 
that  froze  as  it  fell,  coating  the  overhead  wires  and 
glazing  the  asphalt  and  sidewalks. 

It  lacked  an  hour  of  midnight.  From  Fleisch- 
mann's  bakery,  the  goal  of  each  man  among  the  shiv 
ering  hundreds  lined  up  on  Tenth  Street,  the  light 
streamed  out  upon  a  remnant  of  Life's  jetsam  —  that 
which  is  submerged,  which  never  comes  to  the  sur 
face  unless  drawn  there  by  some  searching  and  rescu 
ing  hand;  that  which  the  home-sheltered  never  see 
by  daylight,  never  know,  save  from  hearsay.  In  the 
neighboring  rectory  of  Grace  Church  one  dim  light 
was  burning  in  an  upper  room.  The  marble  church 
itself  looked  a  part  of  the  winter  scene;  its  walls  and 
pinnacles,  already  encrusted  with  ice  crystals,  glit 
tered  fantastically  in  the  rays  of  the  arc-light;  beneath 
them,  the  dark,  shuffling,  huddling  line  of  humanity 
moved  uneasily  in  the  discomfort  of  the  keen  wind. 

At  twelve  o 'clock,  each  unknown,  unidentified  human 
unit  in  that  line,  as  he  reaches  the  window,  puts  forth 
his  hand  for  the  loaf,  and  thrusting  it  beneath  his  coat, 
if  he  be  so  fortunate  as  to  have  one,  or  under  his  arm, 
vanishes.  .  .  . 

Whither  ?    As  well  ask :  Whence  came  he  ? 

Well  up  towards  the  bakery,  because  the  hour  was 
early,  stood  Champney  Googe,  unknown,  unidenti 
fied  as  yet  by  three  men,  Father  Honore  and  two  de- 


Flamsted  Quarries  331 

tectives,  who  from  the  dark  archway  of  a  sunken  area 
farther  down  the  street  were  scanning  this  bread-line. 
The  man  for  whom  they  were  searching  held  his  head 
low.  An  old  broad-brimmed  felt  hat  was  jammed  over 
his  forehead,  almost  covering  his  eyes.  The  face  be 
neath  its  shadow  was  sunken,  drawn;  the  upper  lip, 
chin,  and  cheeks  covered  with  a  three  weeks'  growth 
of  hair  that  had  been  blackened  with  soot.  The  long 
period  of  wandering  in  the  Maine  wilderness  had  re 
duced  his  clothes  to  a  minimum.  His  shoes  were 
worn,  the  leather  split,  showing  bare  flesh.  Like  hun 
dreds  of  others  in  like  case,  he  found  himself  forced 
into  this  line,  even  at  the  risk  of  detection,  through  the 
despairing  desperation  of  hunger.  There  was  noth 
ing  left  for  him  but  this  —  that  is,  if  he  were  not  to 
starve.  And  after  this,  there  remained  for  him  but 
one  thing,  one  choice  out  of  three  final  ones  —  he 
knew  this  well:  flight  and  expatriation,  the  act  of 
grace  by  which  a  man  frees  himself  from  this  life,  or 
the  penitentiary.  Which  should  it  be? 

"Never  that  last,  never!"  he  said  over  and  over 
again  to  himself  during  this  last  month.  "Never, 
never  that!" 

It  was  the  horror  of  that  which  spurred  him  to  un 
imaginable  exertion  in  the  wilderness  in  order  to  escape 
the  detectives  on  his  track;  to  put  them  off  the  scent; 
to  lead  them  to  the  Canada  border  and  so  induce  them 
to  cross  it  in  their  search.  He  had  succeeded;  and 
thereafter  his  one  thought  was  to  get  to  New  York, 
to  that  metropolis  where  the  human  unit  is  reduced  io 
the  zero  power,  and  can  dive  under,  even  vanish,  to 
reappear  only  momently  on  the  surface  to  breathe. 
But  having  reached  the  city,  by  stolen  rides  on  the  top 
of  freight  cars,  and  plunging  again  into  its  maelstrom, 


332  Flamsted  Quarries 

he  found  himself  still  in  the  clutch  of  this  unnamable 
horror.  Docks,  piers,  bridges,  stations  were  become 
mere  detective  terminals  to  him  —  things  to  be  shunned 
at  all  cost.  The  long  perspective  of  the  avenues,  the 
raking  view  from  river  to  river  in  the  cross  streets, 
afforded  him  no  shelter  from  watching  eyes  —  in  every 
passing  glance  he  read  his  doom;  these,  too,  were 
things  to  be  avoided  at  all  hazard. 

For  four  nights,  since  he  sought  refuge  in  New 
York,  he  had  crawled  into  an  empty  packing-box  in 
a  black  alley  behind  a  Water  Street  wholesale  house. 
Twice,  during  this  time,  he  had  made  the  attempt  to 
board  as  stowaway  an  outward-bound  steamship  and 
sailing  vessel  for  a  South  American  port;  but  he  had 
failed,  for  the  Eyes  were  upon  him  —  always  the  Eyes 
wherever  he  went,  whenever  he  looked,  Eyes  that  were 
spotting  him.  In  the  weakness  consequent  upon  pro 
longed  fasting  and  the  protracted  exposure  during  his 
journey  from  Maine,  this  horror  was  becoming  an 
obsession  bordering  on  delirium.  It  was  even  now 
beginning  to  dull  the  two  senses  of  sight  and  hearing  — 
at  least,  he  imagined  it  —  as  he  stood  in  line  waiting 
for  the  loaf  that  should  keep  him  another  day,  keep 
him  for  one  of  two  alternatives:  flight,  if  possible  to 
South  America,  or  ... 

As  he  stood  there,  the  fear  that  his  sight  might  grow 
suddenly  dim,  that  he  might  in  consequence  fail  in 
recognition  of  those  Eyes  so  constantly  on  the  lookout 
for  him,  suddenly  increased.  He  grew  afraid,  at  last, 
to  look  up  —  What  if  the  Eyes  should  be  there  !  He 
bore  the  ever-increasing  horror  as  long  as  he  could, 
then  —  better  starve  and  have  done  with  it  than  die 
like  a  dog  from  sheer  fright !  —  he  stepped  cautiously, 
softly,  starting  at  the  crackle  of  the  ice  under  his 


Flamsted  Quarries  333 

tread,  off  the  curbstone  into  the  street.  So  far  he  was 
safe.  He  kept  his  head  low,  and  walked  carelessly 
towards  Third  Avenue.  When  nearing  the  corner  he 
determined  he  would  look  up.  He  took  the  middle  of 
the  street.  It  cost  him  a  supreme  effort  to  raise  his 
eyes,  to  look  stealthily  about  him,  behind,  before,  to 
right,  to  left  — 

What  was  that  in  the  dark  area  archway!  His  sight 
blurred  for  the  moment,  so  increasing  the  blackness  of 
impending  horror;  then,  under  the  influence  of  this 
last  applied  stimulus,  his  sight  grew  preternaturally 
keen.  He  discerned  one  moving  form  —  two  —  three; 
to  his  over-strained  nerves  there  seemed  a  whole  posse 
behind  them.  Oh,  the  Eyes,  the  Eyes  that  \vere  so 
constantly  on  him !  Could  he  never  rid  himself  of 
them !  He  bent  his  head  to  the  sleeting  blast  and 
darted  down  the  middle  of  the  street  to  Second  Avenue. 

He  knew  now  the  alternative. 

After  a  possible  five  seconds  of  hesitation  the  three 
men  gave  chase.  It  was  the  make  of  the  man,  his 
motion  as  he  started  to  run,  the  running  itself  as  Champ- 
ney  took  the  middle  of  the  street,  by  which  Father 
Honore  marked  him.  It  was  just  such  a  start,  just 
such  running,  as  the  priest  had  seen  many  a  time  on 
the  football  field  when  the  goal,  which  should  decide 
for  victory,  was  to  be  made.  He  recognized  it  at  once. 

"That's  he !"  He  spoke  under  his  breath  to  the  two 
men;  the  three  started  in  pursuit. 

But  Champney  Googe  was  running  to  goal,  and  the 
old  training  stood  him  in  good  stead.  He  was  across 
Second  Avenue  before  the  men  were  half  way  down 
Tenth  Street;  down  Eighth  Street  towards  East  River 
he  fled,  but  at  First  he  doubled  on  his  tracks  and 
eluded  them.  They  lost  him  as  he  turned  into  Second 


334  .Flamsted  Quarries 

Avenue  again ;  not  a  footstep  showed  on  the  ice-coated 
pavement.  They  stopped  at  a  telephone  station  to 
notify  the  police  at  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  terminals, 
then  paused  to  draw  a  long  breath. 

"You're  sure  'twas  him?"  One  of  the  detectives 
appealed  to  Father  Honore. 

"Yes,  I'm  sure." 

"He  give  us  the  slip  this  time;  he  knew  we  was  after 
him,"  the  other  panted  rather  than  spoke,  for  the  long 
run  had  winded  him.  "I  never  see  such  running  — 
and  look  at  the  glare  of  ice !  He  'd  have  done  me  up  in 
another  block." 

"Well,  the  hunt 's  up  for  to-night,  anyway.  There's 
no  use  tobogganning  round  after  such  a  hare  at  this 
time  of  night,"  said  the  other,  wiping  the  wet  snow 
from  the  inside  of  his  coat  collar. 

"We've  spotted  him  sure  enough,"  said  the  first, 
"  and  I  think,  sir,  with  due  notifications  at  headquarters 
for  all  the  precincts  to-night,  we  can  run  him  down  and 
in  to-morrow.  If  you've  no  more  use  for  me,  I'll  just 
step  round  to  headquarters  and  get  the  lines  on  him 
before  daylight  —  that  is,  if  they'll  work."  He  looked 
dubiously  at  the  sagging  ice-laden  wires. 

"You  won't  need  me  any  longer?"  The  second  man 
spoke  inquiringly,  as  if  he  would  like  to  know  Father 
Honore's  next  move. 

"I  don't  need  you  both,  but  I'd  like  one  of  you  to 
volunteer  to  keep  me  company,  for  a  while,  at  least. 
I  can't  give  up  this  way,  although  I  know  no  more  of 
his  whereabouts  than  you  do.  I've  a  curious  unrea 
soning  feeling  that  he'll  try  the  ferries  next." 

"He  can't  get  at  the  bridge  —  we've  headed  him  off 
there,  and  it's  a  bad  night.  It's  been  my  experience 
that  this  sort  don't  take  to  water,  not  naturally,  on  such 


Flamsted  Quarries  335 

nights  as  this.  We  might  try  one  of  the  Bowery  lodg 
ing  houses  that  I  know  this  sort  finds  out  sometimes. 
I'll  go  with  you,  if  you  like." 

"Thank  you,  I  want  to  try  the  ferries  first;  we'll 
begin  at  the  Battery  and  work  up.  How  long  does  the 
Staten  Island  boat  run?" 

"Not  after  one;  but  they'll  be  behind  time  to-night; 
it's  getting  to  be  a  smothering  snow.  I  don't  believe 
the  elevated  can  run  on  time  either,  and  we've  got 
three  blocks  to  walk  to  the  next  station." 

"We'd  better  be  going,  then."  Father  Honore  bade 
the  other  man  good  night,  and  the  two  walked  rapidly 
to  the  nearest  elevated  station  on  Second  Avenue.  It 
was  an  up-town  train  that  rolled  in  covered  with  sleet 
and  snow,  and  they  were  obliged  to  wait  fully  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  a  south  bound  one  took  them  to  the 
Battery. 

The  wind  was  lessening,  but  a  heavy  snowfall  had 
set  in.  They  made  their  way  across  the  park  to  the 
"tongue  that  laps  the  commerce  of  the  world." 

Where  was  that  commerce  now?  Wholly  vanished 
with  the  multiple  daytime  activities  that  centre  near 
this  spot.  The  great  fleet  of  in-coming  and  out-going 
ocean  liners,  of  vessels,  barges,  tows,  ferries,  tugs  — 
where  were  they  in  the  drifting  snow  that  was  blotting 
out  the  night  in  opaque  white?  The  clank  and  rush 
of  the  elevated,  the  strident  grinding  of  the  trolleys,  the 
polyglot  whistling  and  tooting  of  the  numerous  small 
river  craft,  the  cries  of  'longshoremen,  the  roaring 
basal  note  of  metropolitan  mechanism  —  all  were 
silenced.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard,  at  the  moment  of 
their  arrival,  but  the  heavy  wash  of  the  harbor  waters 
against  the  sea  wall  and  its  yeasting  churn  in  the 
ferry  slip. 


336  Flamsted  Quarries 

Near  the  dock-house  they  saw  some  half-obliterated 
tracks  in  the  snow.  Father  Honore  bent  to  examine 
them ;  it  availed  him  nothing.  He  looked  at  his  watch ; 
at  the  same  moment  he  heard  the  distant  hoarse  half- 
smothered  whistle  repeated  again  and  again  and  the 
deadened  beat  of  the  paddle  wheels.  Gradually  the 
boat  felt  her  way  into  the  slip.  The  snow  was  falling 
heavily. 

"We  will  wait  here  until  the  boat  leaves,"  said  Father 
Honore,  stepping  inside  to  a  dark  wind-sheltered  angle 
of  the  house. 

"It's  a  wild  goose  chase  we're  on,"  muttered  his 
companion  after  a  while.  The  next  moment  he  laid 
a  heavy  hand  on  the  priest's  arm,  gripping  it  hard, 
every  muscle  tense. 

A  heavy  brewery  team,  drawn  by  noble  Percherons, 
rumbled  past  them  down  the  slip.  On  it,  behind  the 
driver's  seat,  was  the  figure  of  a  man,  crouched  low. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  bandaged  arm  and  the  un 
natural  contour  it  gave  to  the  body's  profile,  they 
might  have  failed  to  recognize  him.  The  two  stood 
motionless  in  the  blackness  of  the  inner  angle,  pressing 
close  to  the  iron  pillars  as  their  man  passed  them  at  a 
distance  of  something  less  than  twelve  feet.  The 
warning  bell  rang;  they  hurried  on  board. 

After  the  boat  was  well  out  into  the  harbor,  the 
detective  entered  the  cabin  to  investigate.  He  re 
turned  to  report  to  Father  Honore  that  the  man  was 
not  inside. 

"Outside  then,"  said  the  priest,  drawing  a  sharp 
short  breath. 

The  two  made  their  way  forward,  keeping  well  be 
hind  the  team.  Father  Honore  saw  Champney  stand 
ing  by  the  outside  guard  chain.  He  was  whitened  by 


Flamsted  Quarries  337 

the  clinging  snow.  The  driver  of  the  team  sang  out 
to  him:  "I  say,  pardner,  you'd  better  come  inside!" 

He  neither  turned  nor  spoke,  but,  bracing  himself, 
suddenly  crouched  to  the  position  for  a  standing  leap, 
fist  clenched.  .  .  . 

A  great  cry  rang  out  into  the  storm-filled  night: 

"Champney!" 

The  two  men  flung  themselves  upon  'him  as  he 
leaped,  and  in  the  ensuing  struggle  the  three  rolled 
together  on  the  deck.  He  fought  them  like  a  madman, 
using  his  bandaged  arm,  his  feet,  his  head.  He  was 
powerful  with  the  fictitious  strength  of  desperation 
and  thwarted  intent.  But  the  two  men  got  the  upper 
hand,  and,  astride  the  prostrate  form,  the  detective 
forced  on  the  handcuffs.  At  the  sound  of  the  clink 
ing  irons,  the  prisoner  suffered  collapse  then  and 
there. 

"Thank  God !"  said  Father  Honore  as  he  lifted  the 
limp  head  and  shoulders.  With  the  other's  aid  he 
carried  him  into  the  cabin  and  laid  him  on  the  floor. 
The  priest  took  off  his  own  wet  cloak,  then  his  coat; 
with  the  latter  he  covered  the  poor  clay  that  lay  ap 
parently  lifeless  —  no  one  should  look  upon  that  face 
either  in  curiosity,  contempt,  or  pity. 

The  detective  went  out  to  interview  the  driver  of  the 
team. 

"Where  'd  you  pick  him  up?" 

"  'Long  on  West  Street,  just  below  Park  Place.  I  see 
by  the  way  he  spoke  he  'd  broke  his  wind  —  asked  if 
I  was  goin'  to  a  ferry  an'  if  I'd  give  him  a  lift.  I  said 
'Come  along,'  and  asked  no  questions.  He  ain't  the 
first  I've  helped  out  o'  trouble,  but  I  guess  I've  got  him 
in  sure  enough  this  time." 

"You're  going  to  put  up  on  the  Island?" 


338  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Yes;  but  what  business  is  it  o'  a  decent-looking 
cove  like  youse,  I'd  like  to  know." 

"Well,  it's  this  way:  we've  got  to  get  this  man  back 
to  New  York  to-night;  it's  the  boat's  last  trip  and 
there  ain't  a  chance  of  getting  a  cab  or  hack  in  this 
blizzard,  and  at  this  time  of  night,  to  get  him  up  from 
the  ferry.  If  you'll  take  the  job,  I'll  give  you  fifteen 
dollars  for  it." 

"  That  ain't  so  easy  earned  in  a  reg'lar  snow-in ;  be 
sides,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  party  to  gettin'  him  furder 
into  your  grip  by  takin'  him  over." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  He's  got  a  friend  with  him 
who'll  see  to  him  for  the  rest  of  the  night." 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  then.  It's  goin'  on  one  now, 
an'  I  might  as  well  make  a  night  o'  it  on  t'  other  side. 
It's  damned  hard  on  the  bosses,  though,  an'  it's  ten 
to  one  I  don't  get  lifted  myself  by  one  o'  them  cussed 
cruelty  to  animil  fellers  that  sometimes  poke  their  noses 
into  the  wrong  end  o'  their  business.  —  Make  it  twenty 
an'  it  is  done." 

The  detective  smiled.  "Twenty  it  is."  He  patted 
the  noble  Percherons  and  felt  their  warmth  under  the 
blankets.  "You're  not  the  kind  they're  after.  What 
have  you  got  in  your  team?" 

"Nothing  but  the  bosses'  feed-bags." 

"  That  '11  do.  We  '11  put  him  in  now  in  case  any  one 
comes  on  at  Staten  Island  for  the  return  trip.  You 
don't  know  nothing  about  this,  you  know."  He  looked 
at  him  knowingly. 

"All  right,  Cap'n;  I'd  be  willin'  to  say  I  was  a 
bloomin'  id  jot  for  two  saw-horses.  Come,  rake  out." 

The  detective  laughed.  "Here's  ten  to  bind  the 
bargain  —  the  rest  -when  you've  landed  him." 


Ill 

THE  brewery  team  made  its  way  slowly  up 
from  the  ferry  owing  to  the  drifting  snow 
and  icy  pavements.  From  time  to  time  a 
plough  ran  on  the  elevated,  or  on  the  trolley  tracks, 
and  sent  the  snow  in  fan-like  spurts  from  the  fender. 
The  driver  drew  rein  in  a  west-side  street  off  lower 
Seventh  Avenue.  It  was  a  brotherhood  house  where 
the  priest  had  taken  a  room  for  an  emergency  like  the 
present  one.  He  knew  that  within  these  walls  no 
questions  would  be  asked,  yet  every  aid  given,  if  re 
quired,  in  just  these  circumstances.  The  man  beneath 
the  horse-blankets  was  still  unconscious  when  they  lifted 
him  out,  and  carried  him  up  to  a  large  room  in  the  top 
most  story.  The  detective,  after  removing  the  hand 
cuffs,  asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  further  use  that  night. 
He  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  cot  and  looked  search- 
ingly  into  the  passive  face  on  the  pillow. 

"No;  he's  safe  here,"  Father  Honore  replied. 
"You  will  notify  the  police  and  the  other  detectives. 
I  will  go  bail  for  him  if  any  should  be  needed;  but  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  now  that  the  case  will  probably 
never  come  to  trial;  the  amount  has  been  guaranteed." 
He  wrote  a  telegram  and  handed  it  to  the  man.  "  Would 
you  do  me  the  favor  to  get  this  off  as  early  as  you  can  ?" 

"Humph!  Poor  devil,  he's  got  off  easy;  but  from 
his  looks  and  the  tussle  we  had  with  him,  I  don't  think 
he  '11  be  over  grateful  to  you  for  bringing  him  through 
this.  I've  seen  so  much  of  this  kind,  that  I've  come  to 


34°  Flamsted  Quarries 

think  it's  better  when  they  drop  out  quietly,  no  fuss, 
like  as  he  wanted  to." 

"I  can't  agree  with  you.    Thank  you  for  your  help." 

"Not  worth  mentioning;  it's  all  in  the  night's  work, 
you  know.  Good  night.  I'll  send  the  telegram  just 
as  soon  as  the  wires  are  working.  You  know  my 
number  if  you  want  me."  He  handed  him  a  card. 

"Thank  you;  good  night." 

When  the  door  closed  upon  him,  Father  Honore 
drew  a  long  breath  that  was  half  a  suppressed  groan; 
then  he  turned  to  the  passive  form  on  the  cot.  There 
was  much  to  be  done. 

He  administered  a  little  stimulant;  heated  some 
water  over  a  small  gas  stove;  laid  out  clean  sheets,  a 
shirt,  some  bandages  and  a  few  surgical  instruments 
from  a  "handy  closet,"  that  was  kept  filled  with  simple 
hospital  emergency  requirements,  and  set  to  work. 
He  cut  the  shoes  from  the  stockingless  feet;  cut  away 
the  stiffened  clothing,  what  there  was  of  it;  laid  bare 
the  bandaged  arm;  it  was  badly  swollen,  stiff  and 
inflamed.  He  soaked  from  a  clotted  knife- wound 
above  the  elbow  the  piece  of  cloth  with  which  it  had 
first  been  bound.  He  looked  at  the  discolored  rag 
as  it  lay  in  his  hand,  startled  at  what  he  saw:  a 
handkerchief  —  a  small  one,  a  woman's !  With  sick 
ening  dread  he  searched  in  the  corners;  he  found 
them:  A.  A.,  wreathed  around  with  forget-me-nots, 
all  in  delicate  French  embroidery. 

"My  God,  my  God!"  he  groaned.  He  recalled 
having  seen  Aileen  embroidering  these  very  handker 
chiefs  last  summer  up  under  the  pines.  One  of  the 
sisterhood,  Sister  Ste.  Croix,  was  with  her  giving  in 
struction,  while  she  herself  wrought  on  a  convent-made 
garment. 


Flamsted  Quarries  341 

What  did  it  mean?  With  multiplied  thoughts  that 
grasped  helplessly  hither  and  thither  for  some  point 
of  attachment,  he  went  on  with  his  work.  Two  hours 
later,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  the  man  be 
fore  him  was  physically  cared  for  as  well  as  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  be  until  he  should  regain  con 
sciousness.  His  practised  eye  recognized  this  to  be  a 
case  of  collapse  from  exhaustion,  physical  and  mental. 
Now  Nature  must  work  to  replenish  the  depleted 
vitality.  He  could  trust  her  up  to  a  certain  point. 

He  sat  by  the  cot,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  head 
dropped  into  his  hands,  pondering  the  mystery  of  this 
life  before  him  —  of  all  life,  of  death,  of  the  Beyond ; 
marvelling  at  the  strange  warp  and  woof  of  circum 
stance,  his  heart  wrung  for  the  anguish  of  that  mother  far 
away  in  the  quarries  of  The  Gore,  his  soul  filled  with 
thankfulness  that  she  was  spared  the  sight  of  this. 

The  gray  November  dawn  began  to  dim  the  electric 
light  in  the  room.  He  went  to  a  window,  opened  the 
inner  blinds  and  looked  out.  The  storm  was  not  over, 
but  the  wind  had  lessened  and  the  flakes  fell  sparsely. 
He  looked  across  over  the  neighboring  roofs  weighted 
with  snow;  the  wires  were  down.  A  muffled  sound 
of  street  traffic  heralded  the  beginning  day.  As  he 
turned  back  to  the  cot  he  saw  that  Champney's  eyes 
were  open;  but  the  look  in  them  was  dazed.  They 
closed  directly.  When  they  opened  again,  the  full 
light  of  day  was  in  the  room;  semi-consciousness  had 
returned.  He  spoke  feebly: 

"Where  am  I?" 

"Here,  safe  with  me,  Champney."  He  leaned  over 
him,  but  saw  that  he  was  not  recognized. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Your  friend,  Father  Honore." 


342  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Father  Honore — "  he  murmured,  "I  don't  know 
you."  He  gave  a  convulsive  start  —  "Where  are  the 
Eyes  gone?"  he  whispered,  a  look  of  horror  creeping 
into  his  own. 

"There  are  none  here,  none  but  mine,  Champney. 
Listen ;  you  are  safe  with  me,  safe,  do  you  understand  ?  " 

He  gave  no  answer,  but  the  dazed  look  returned. 
He  moistened  his  parched  lips  with  his  tongue  and 
swallowed  hard.  Father  Honore  held  a  glass  of  water 
to  his  mouth,  slipping  an  arm  and  hand  beneath  his 
head  to  raise  him.  He  drank  with  avidity;  tried  to 
sit  up,  but  fell  back  exhausted.  The  priest  busied 
himself  with  preparing  some  hot  beef  extract  on  the 
little  stove.  When  it  was  ready  he  sat  down  by  the  cot 
and  fed  it  to  him  spoonful  by  spoonful. 

"Thank  you,"  Champney  said  quietly  when  the 
priest  had  finished  his  ministration.  He  turned  a  little 
on  his  side  and  fell  asleep. 

The  sleep  was  that  which  follows  exhaustion ;  it  was 
profound  and  beneficial.  Evidently  no  distress  of  mind 
or  body  marred  it,  and  for  every  sixty  minutes  of  the 
blessed  oblivion,  there  was  renewed  activity  in  nature's 
ever  busy  laboratory  to  replenish  the  strength  that  had 
been  sacrificed  in  this  man's  protracted  struggle  to 
escape  his  doom,  and,  by  means  of  it,  to  restore  the 
mental  balance,  fortunately  not  too  long  lost.  .  .  . 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  to  full  consciousness.  The 
sun  was  setting.  Behind  the  Highlands  of  the  Nave- 
sink  it  sank  in  royal  state:  purple,  scarlet,  and  gold. 
Upon  the  crisping  blue  waters  of  Harbor,  Sound,  and 
River,  the  reflection  of  its  transient  glory  lay  in  quiver 
ing  windrows  of  gorgeous  color.  It  crimsoned  faintly 
the  snow  that  lay  thick  on  the  multitude  of  city  roofs; 
it  blazoned  scarlet  the  myriad  windows  in  the  towers 


Flamsted  Quarries  343 

and  skyscrapers;  it  filled  the  keen  air  with  wonderful 
fleeting  lights  that  bewildered  and  charmed  the  unac 
customed  eyes  of  the  metropolitan  millions. 

Champney  waited  for  it  to  fade;  then  he  turned  to 
the  man  beside  him. 

''Father  Honore  —  "he  half  rose  from  the  cot.  The 
priest  bent  over  him.  Champney  laid  one  arm  around 
his  neck,  drew  him  down  to  him  and,  for  a  moment 
only,  the  two  men  remained  cheek  to  cheek. 

"Champney  —  my  son,"  was  all  he  could  say. 

"  Yes ;  now  tell  me  all  —  the  worst ;  I  can  bear  it." 

"I  can't  see  my  way,  yet."  These  were  the  first 
words  he  spoke  after  Father  Honore  had  finished  tell 
ing  him  of  his  prospective  relief  from  sentence  and  the 
means  taken  to  obtain  it.  He  had  listened  intently, 
without  interruption,  sitting  up  on  the  cot,  his  look 
fixed  unwaveringly  on  the  narrator.  He  put  his  hand 
to  his  face  as  he  spoke,  covering  his  eyes  for  a  moment ; 
then  he  passed  it  over  the  three  weeks'  stubble  on  his 
cheeks  and  chin. 

"Is  it  possible  for  me  to  shave  here?  I  must  get 
up  —  out  of  this.  I  can't  think  straight  unless  I  get 
on  my  feet." 

"Do  you  feel  strong  enough,  Champney?" 

"I  shall  get  strength  quicker  when  I'm  up.  Thank 
you,"  he  said,  as  Father  Honore  helped  him  to  his  feet. 
He  swayed  as  if  dizzy  on  crossing  the  room  to  a  small 
mirror  above  a  stand.  Father  Honore  placed  the  hot 
water  and  shaving  utensils  before  him.  He  declined 
his  further  assistance. 

"Are  there  —  are  there  any  clothes  I  could  put  on?" 
He  asked  hesitatingly,  as  he  proceeded  to  shave  himself 
awkwardly  with  his  one  free  hand. 


344  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Such  as  they  are,  a  plenty."  Father  Honore  pro 
duced  a  common  tweed  suit  and  fresh  underwear  from 
the  "handy  closet."  These  together  with  some  other 
necessaries  from  a  drawer  in  the  stand  supplied  a  full 
equipment. 

"Can  I  tub  anywhere?"  was  his  next  question  after 
he  had  finished  shaving. 

"Yes;  this  bath  closet  here  is  at  your  disposal. 
He  opened  a  door  into  a  small  adjoining  hall-room. 
Champney  took  the  clothes  and  went  in.  While  he 
was  bathing,  Father  Honore  used  the  room  telephone 
to  order  in  a  substantial  evening  meal.  After  the  noise 
of  the  splashing  ceased,  he  heard  a  half -suppressed 
groan.  He  listened  intently,  but  there  was  no  further 
sound,  not  even  of  the  details  of  dressing. 

A  half-hour  passed.  He  had  taken  in  the  tray,  and 
was  becoming  anxious,  when  the  door  opened  and 
Champney  came  in,  clean,  clothed,  but  with  a  look  in 
his  eyes  that  gave  the  priest  all  the  greater  cause 
for  anxiety  because,  up  to  that  time,  the  man  had 
volunteered  no  information  concerning  himself;  he 
had  received  what  the  priest  said  passively,  without 
demonstration  of  any  kind.  There  had  been  as  yet 
no  spiritual  vent  for  the  over-strained  mind,  the  over 
charged  soul.  The  priest  knew  this  danger  and  what 
it  portended. 

He  ate  the  food  that  was  placed  before  him  list 
lessly.  Suddenly  he  pushed  the  plate  away  from  him 
across  the  table  at  which  he  was  sitting.  "I  can't  eat; 
it  nauseates  me,"  he  said;  then,  leaning  his  folded 
arms  on  the  edge,  he  dropped  his  head  upon  them 
groaning  heavily  in  an  agony  of  despair,  shame,  re 
morse:  "God!  What's  the  use  —  what's  the  use! 
There's  nothing  left  —  nothing  left." 


Flamsted  Quarries  345 

Father  Honore  knew  that  the  crucial  hour  was 
striking,  and  his  prayer  for  help  was  the  wordless 
outreaching  of  every  atom  of  his  consciousness  for 
that  One  more  powerful  than  weak  humanity,  to  guide, 
to  aid  him. 

"Your  manhood  is  left."  He  spoke  sternly,  with 
authority.  This  was  no  time  for  pleading,  for  sym 
pathy,  for  persuasion. 

"My  manhood!"  The  bitterest  self-contempt  was 
voiced  in  those  two  words.  He  raised  his  head,  and 
the  look  he  gave  to  the  man  opposite  bordered  on  the 
inimical. 

"Yes,  your  manhood.  Do  you,  in  your  supreme 
egotism,  suppose  that  you,  Champney  Googe,  are  the 
only  man  in  this  world  who  has  sinned,  suffered,  gone 
under  for  a  time?  Are  you  going  to  lie  down  in  the 
ditch  like  a  craven,  simply  because  you  have  failed  to 
withstand  the  first  assaults  of  the  devil  that  is  in  you? 
Do  you  think,  because  you  have  sinned,  there  is  no 
longer  a  place  for  you  and  your  work  in  this  world 
where  all  men  are  sinners  at  some  time  in  their  lives? 
I  tell  you,  Champney  Googe,  —  and  mark  well  what  I 
say, —  your  sin,  as  sin,  is  not  so  despicable  as  your 
attitude  towards  your  own  life.  Why,  man,  you're 
alive  —  " 

"Yes,  alive  —  thanks  to  you;  but  knocked  out  after 
the  first  round,"  he  muttered.  The  priest  noted,  how 
ever,  that  he  still  held  his  head  erect.  He  took  fresh 
courage. 

"And  what  would  you  say  of  a  man  who,  because 
he  has  been  knocked  out  in  the  first  round,  does  not 
dare  to  enter  the  ring  again?  So  far  as  I've  seen  any 
thing  of  life,  it  is  a  man's  duty  to  get  on  his  feet  as 
quickly  as  he  can  —  square  away  and  at  it  again." 


346  Flamsted  Quarries 

" There's  nothing  left  to  fight  —  it's  all  gone  —  my 
honor — " 

"True,  your  honor  's  gone;  you  can't  get  that  back; 
but  you  can  put  yourself  in  the  running  to  obtain  a 
standard  for  your  future  honor.  Champney,  listen;" 
he  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  him  that  the  table  might 
not  separate  them;  "hear  me,  a  man  like  yourself, 
erring,  because  human,  who  has  sinned,  suffered  — 
let  me  speak  out  of  my  own  experience.  Put  aside 
regret;  it  clogs.  Regret  nothing;  what's  done  is 
done  past  recall.  Live  out  your  life,  no  matter  what 
the  struggle.  Count  this  life  as  yours  to  make  the 
best  of.  Live,  I  say;  live,  work,  make  good;  it  is  in 
any  man's  power  who  has  received  a  reprieve  like 
yours.  I  know  whereof  I  am  speaking.  I  '11  go  further : 
it  would  be  in  your  power  even  if  you  had  been  judged 
and  committed." 

The  man,  to  whom  he  was  appealing,  shuddered  as 
he  heard  the  word  "committed." 

"  That  would  be  death,"  he  said  under  his  breath ; 
"last  night  was  nothing,  nothing  to  that  —  but  you 
can't  understand  — " 

"Better,  perhaps,  than  you  think.  But  what  I  want 
you  to  see  is  that  there  is  something  left  to  live  for; 
Champney  —  your  mother."  He  had  hesitated  to 
speak  of  her,  not  knowing  what  the  effect  might  be. 

Champney  started  to  his  feet,  his  hand  clenched  on  the 
table  edge.  He  breathed  short,  hard.  "  O  God,  O  God  ! 
Why  did  n't  you  let  me  go?  How  can  I  face  her  and 
live!"  He  began  to  pace  the  room  with  rapid  jerky 
steps.  Father  Honore  rose. 

"Champney  Googe,"  —  he  spoke  calmly,  but  with  a 
concentrated  energy  of  tone  that  made  its  impression 
on  the  man  addressed,  —  "when  you  lay  there  last 


Flamsted  Quarries  347 

night,"  he  motioned  towards  the  cot,  "I  thanked  my 
God  that  she  was  not  here  to  see  you.  I  have  tele 
graphed  her  that  you  are  alive.  In  the  hope  that  you 
yourself  might  send  some  word,  either  directly  or 
through  me,  I  have  withheld  all  detail  of  your  condition, 
all  further  news ;  but,  for  her  sake,  I  dare  not  keep  her 
longer  in  suspense.  Give  me  some  word  for  her  — 
some  assurance  from  yourself  that  you  will  live  for  her 
sake,  if  not  for  your  own.  Reparation  must  begin  here 
and  now,  and  no  time  be  lost;  it's  already  late."  He 
looked  at  his  watch. 

Champney  turned  upon  him  fiercely.  "Don't  force 
me  to  anything.  I  can't  see  my  way,  I  tell  you.  You 
have  said  I  was  a  man.  Let  me  take  my  stand  on  that 
assurance,  and  act  as  one  who  must  first  settle  a  long 
standing  account  with  himself  before  he  can  yield  to 
any  impulse  of  emotion.  Go  to  bed  —  do ;  you  're 
worn  out  with  watching  with  me.  I'll  sit  here  by  the 
window;  /  promise  you.  There's  no  sleep  in  me  or 
for  me  —  I  want  to  be  alone  —  alone." 

It  was  an  appeal,  and  the  priest  recognized  in  it  the 
cry  of  the  individual  soul  when  the  full  meaning  of  its 
isolation  from  humankind  is  first  revealed  to  it.  He 
let  him  alone.  Without  another  word  he  drew  off  his 
boots,  turned  out  the  electric  light,  opened  the  inner 
blinds,  and  laid  himself  down  on  the  cot,  worn,  weary, 
but  undaunted  in  spirit.  At  times  he  lost  himself 
for  a  few  minutes;  for  the  rest  he  feigned  the  sleep  he 
so  sorely  needed.  The  excitation  of  his  nerves,  how 
ever,  kept  him  for  the  greater  part  of  the  night  con 
scious  of  all  that  went  on  in  the  room. 

Champney  sat  by  the  window.  During  that  night 
he  never  left  his  seat.  Father  Honore  could  see  his 
form  silhouetted  against  the  blank  of  the  panes;  his 


348  Flamsted  Quarries 

head  was  bowed  into  his  hands.  From  time  to  time 
he  drew  deep,  deep,  shuddering  breaths.  The  struggle 
going  on  in  that  human  breast  beside  the  window,  the 
priest  knew  to  be  a  terrible  one  —  a  spiritual  and  a 
mental  hand-to-hand  combat,  against  almost  over 
powering  odds,  in  the  arena  of  the  soul. 

The  sun  was  reddening  the  east  when  Champney 
turned  from  the  window,  rose  quietly,  and  stepped  to 
the  side  of  the  cot.  He  stood  there  a  few  minutes  look 
ing  down  on  the  strong,  marked  face  that,  in  the  morn 
ing  light,  showed  yellow  from  watching  and  fatigue. 
Father  Honore  knew  he  was  there;  but  he  waited 
those  few  minutes  before  opening  his  eyes.  He  looked 
up  then,  not  knowing  what  he  was  to  expect,  and  met 
Champney's  blue  ones  looking  down  into  his.  That 
one  look  was  sufficient  to  assure  him  that  the  man  who 
stood  there  so  quietly  beside  him  was  the  Champney 
Googe  of  a  new  birth.  The  "old  man"  had  been  put 
away;  he  was  ready  for  the  race,  u  for  getting  those 
things  that  are  behind." 

"I've  won  out,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  and  were  silent  for  a 
few  minutes.  Then  Champney  drew  a  chair  to  the  cot. 

"I'd  like  to  talk  with  you,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he 
said. 


IV 

IN  the  priest's  soul  there  was  rejoicing.  He  was 
anticipating  the  victorious  outcome  of  the  struggle 
to  which,  in  part,  he  had  been  witness.  But  he 
acknowledged  afterwards  that  he  had  had  not  the 
faintest  conception,  not  the  remotest  intimation  of  the 
actual  truth.  It  remained  for  Champney  Googe  to 
enlighten  him. 

"I've  been  digging  for  the  root  of  the  whole  matter," 
he  began  simply.  His  hand  was  clenched  and  pressed 
hard  on  his  knee,  otherwise  he  showed  no  sign  of  the 
effort  that  speech  cost  him.  "I've  been  clearing  away 
all  obstructions,  trying  to  look  at  myself  outside  of 
myself;  and  I  find  that,  ever  since  I  can  remember, 
I've  had  the  ambition  to  be  rich  —  and  rich  for  the 
power  it  apparently  gives  over  other  men,  for  the  am 
plitude  of  one  kind  of  living  it  affords,  for  the  extension 
of  the  lines  of  personal  indulgence  and  pleasure  seem 
ingly  indefinitely,  for  the  position  it  guarantees.  There 
has  been  but  one  goal  always :  the  making  of  money. 

"I  rebelled  at  first  at  the  prospect  of  the  five  years' 
apprenticeship  in  Europe.  I  can  see  now  that  those 
six  years,  as  they  proved  to  be,  fostered  my  ambition 
by  placing  me  in  direct  and  almost  daily  contact  with 
those  to  whom  great  wealth  is  a  natural,  not  an  ac 
quired  thing."  (Father  Honore  noted  that  through 
out  his  confession  he  avoided  the  mention  of  any  name, 
and  he  respected  him  for  it.)  "  On  my  return,  as  you 


350  Flamsted  Quarries 

know,  I  was  placed  in  a  position  of  great  responsi 
bility,  as  well  as  one  affording  every  opportunity  to 
further  my  object  in  life.  I  began  to  make  use  of  these 
opportunities  at  once;  the  twenty  thousand  received 
from  the  quarry  lands  I  invested,  and  in  a  short  time 
doubled  the  sum.  I  was  in  a  position  to  gain  the  inside 
knowledge  needed  to  manipulate  money  with  almost 
a  certainty  of  increment;  this  knowledge,  I  was  given 
to  understand,  I  might  use  for  any  personal  invest 
ment  of  funds ;  I  took  advantage  of  the  privilege. 

"I  soon  found  that  to  operate  successfully  and 
largely,  as  I  needed  to  in  order  to  gain  my  end  and  gain 
it  quickly,  I  must  have  a  larger  amount  of  cash.  For 
this  reason,  I  re-invested  the  forty  thousand  on  the 
strength  of  my  knowledge  of  a  rise  that  was  to  be 
brought  about  in  certain  stocks  within  two  months. 
This  rise  was  guaranteed,  you  understand;  guaran 
teed  by  three  influential  financiers.  It  would  double 
my  investment.  They  let  it  be  known  in  a  quiet  way 
and  in  certain  quarters,  that  this  rise  would  occur  at 
about  such  a  date,  and  then  forced  the  market  up  till 
they  themselves  had  a  good  surplus.  All  this  I  know 
for  a  fact,  because  I  was  on  the  inside.  Just  at  this 
time  the  syndicate  intrusted  to  me  three  hundred 
thousand  as  a  workable  margin  for  certain  future  in 
vestments.  My  orders  were  to  invest  in  this  prepared 
stock  only  after  October  fifteenth.  Meanwhile  the 
manipulation  of  this  amount  was  in  my  hands  for 
eight  weeks. 

"  I  knew  the  forty  thousand  I  had  purposely  invested 
in  these  stocks  would  double  itself  by  the  fifteenth  of 
October;  this  was  the  date  set.  I  knew  this  because 
I  had  the  guaranty  of  the  three  men  behind  me;  and, 
knowing  this,  I  took  a  hundred  thousand  of  the  sum 


Flamsted  Quarries  351 

intrusted  to  me,  in  order  to  make  a  deal  with  a  Wall 
Street  firm  which  would  net  me  twenty  thousand  within 
two  weeks. 

"  I  knew  perfectly  well  what  I  was  doing  —  but  there 
was  never  any  intention  on  my  part  of  robbery  or 
embezzlement.  I  knew  the  sum  eighty  thousand, 
from  my  personal  investment  of  forty  thousand,  was 
due  on  October  fifteenth;  this,  plus  the  twenty  thou 
sand  due  from  the  Wall  Street  deal,  would  insure  the 
syndicate  from  any  loss.  In  fact,  they  would  never 
know  that  the  money  had  been  used  by  me  to  ante 
date  the  investment  of  the  three  hundred  thousand 
-  a  part  of  the  net  yearly  working  profits  from  the 
quarries  —  intrusted  to  me." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  to  pass  his  hand  over  his 
forehead;  his  eyebrows  contracted  suddenly  as  if  he 
were  in  pain. 

"  The  temptation  to  take  this  money,  although  know 
ing  well  enough  it  was  not  mine  to  take,  was  too  great 
for  me.  It  was  the  resultant  of  every  force  of,  I  might 
say,  my  special  business  propulsion.  This  tempta 
tion  lay  along  the  lines  on  which  I  had  built  up  my 
life :  the  pursuance  of  a  line  of  action  by  which  I  might 
get  rich  quick.  —  Then  came  the  crash.  That  special 
guaranteed  stock  broke  —  never  to  rally  in  time  to 
save  me  —  sixty-five  points.  The  syndicate  sent  out 
warning  signals  to  me  that  I  was  just  in  time  to 
save  any  part  of  the  three  hundred  thousand  from 
investment  in  those  stocks.  Of  course,  I  got  no  return 
from  the  forty  thousand  of  my  personal  investment,  and 
the  hundred  thousand  I  had  used  for  the  deal  went 
down  too.  So  much  for  the  guaranty  of  the  multi 
millionaires.  —  Just  then,  when  everything  was  cha 
otic  and  a  big  panic  threatened,  came  a  call  from  the 


352  Flamsted  Quarries 

manager  of  the  quarries  for  immediate  funds;  the 
men  were  getting  uneasy  because  pay  was  two  weeks 
overdue.  The  syndicate  told  me  to  apply  the  working 
margin  of  three  hundred  thousand  at  once  for  this  pur 
pose.  Of  course  there  was  a  shortage;  it  was  bound 
to  be  discovered.  I  tried  to  procrastinate  —  tried  to 
put  off  the  payment  of  the  men;  then  came  the  threat 
ened  strike  on  account  of  non-payment  of  wages.  I 
knew  it  was  all  up  with  me.  When  I  saw  I  must  be 
found  out,  I  fled  - 

"I  never  meant  to  rob  them  —  to  rob  any  one,  never 
—  never  —  His  voice  broke  slightly  on  those  words. 

"I  believe  you."  Father  Honore  spoke  for  the  first 
time.  "Not  one  man  in  ten  thousand  begins  by  mean 
ing  to  steal." 

"I  know  it;  that's  what  makes  the  bitterer  cud- 
chewing." 

"I  know  —  I  know."  The  priest  spoke  under  his 
breath.  He  was  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  cot,  and 
leaned  forward  suddenly,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his 
chin  resting  in  his  palms,  his  eyes  gazing  beyond 
Champney  to  something  intangible,  some  inner  vision 
that  was  at  that  moment  projecting  itself  from  the 
sensitive  plate  of  consciousness  upon  the  blank  of 
reality. 

Champney  looked  at  him  keenly.  He  was  aware 
that,  for  the  moment,  Father  Honore  was  present  with 
him  only  in  the  body.  He  waited,  before  speaking, 
until  the  priest's  eyes  turned  slowly  to  his ;  his  position 
remained  the  same.  Champney  went  on  : 

"All  that  you  have  done  to  obtain  this  reprieve,  has 
been  done  for  me  —  for  mine — ";  his  voice  trembled. 
"A  man  comes  to  know  the  measure  of  such  sacrifice 
after  an  experience  like  mine  —  I  have  no  words  — " 


Flamsted  Quarries  353 

"  Don't,  Champney  —  don't  — " 

"No,  I  won't,  because  I  can't  —  because  nothing  is 
adequate.  I  thought  it  all  out  last  night.  There  is 
but  one  way  to  show  you,  to  prove  anything  to  you ;  I 
am  going  to  do  as  you  said :  make  good  my  manhood  — 

Father  Honore's  hand  closed  upon  Champney's. 

"  —  And  there  is  but  one  way  in  which  I  can  make 
it  good.  I  can  take  only  a  step  at  a  time  now,  but 
it's  this  first  step  that  will  start  me  right." 

He  paused  a  moment  as  if  to  gather  strength  to  voice 
his  decision. 

"I  should  disown  my  manhood  if  I  shirked  now. 
The  horror  of  prospective  years  of  imprisonment  has 
been  more  to  me  than  death  —  I  welcomed  that  as  the 
alternative.  But  now,  the  manhood  that  is  left  in  me 
demands  that  if  I  am  willing  to  live  as  a  man,  I  must 
take  my  punishment  like  a  man.  I  am  going  to  let 
things  take  their  usual  course;  accept  no  relief  from 
the  money  guaranteed  to  reimburse  the  syndicate; 
plead  guilty,  and  let  the  sentence  be  what  it  may: 
seven,  fifteen,  or  twenty  years  —  it's  all  one." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  as  of  deliverance.  The  mere 
formulating  of  his  decision  in  the  presence  of  another 
man  gave  him  strength,  almost  assurance  to  act  for 
himself  in  furthering  his  own  commitment.  But  the 
priest  bowed  his  head  into  his  hands  and  a  groan  burst 
from  his  lips,  so  laden  with  wretchedness,  with  mental 
and  spiritual  suffering,  that  even  Champney  Googe 
was  startled  from  his  hard-won  calm. 

"Father  Honore",  what  is  it?  Don't  take  it  so  hard." 
He  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "I  can't  ask  you  if 
I've  done  right,  because  no  man  can  decide  that  for 
me ;  but  would  n't  you  do  the  same  if  you  were  in  my 
place?" 


354  Flamsted  Quarries 

"  Oh,  would  to  God  I  had  !  —  would  to  God  I  had  !" 
he  groaned  rather  than  spoke. 

Champney  was  startled.  He  realized,  for  the  first 
time,  perhaps,  in  his  self-centred  life,  that  he  was  but 
a  unit  among  suffering  millions.  He  was  realizing, 
moreover,  that,  with  the  utterance  of  his  decision,  he 
had,  as  it  were,  retired  from  the  stage  for  many  years 
to  come;  the  curtain  had  fallen  on  his  particular  act 
in  the  life-drama;  that  others  now  occupied  his  place, 
and  among  them  was  this  man  before  him  who,  active 
for  good,  foremost  in  noble  works,  strong  in  the  faith, 
helpful  wherever  help  might  be  needed,  a  refuge  for 
the  oppressed  of  soul,  a  friend  to  all  humanity  because 
human,  his  friend  —  his  mother's,  was  suffering  at 
this  moment  as  he  himself  had  suffered,  but  without 
the  relief  that  is  afforded  by  renunciation.  Out  of  a 
great  love  and  pity  he  spoke : 

"What  is  it?  Can't  you  tell  me?  Won't  it  help, 
just  as  man  to  man  —  as  it  has  helped  me?" 

Father  Honore  regained  his  control  before  Champney 
ceased  questioning. 

"I  don't  know  that  it  will  help;  but  I  owe  it  to  you 
to  tell  you,  after  what  you  have  said  —  told  me.    I  can 
preach  —  oh  yes !    But  the  practice  —  the  practice  — 
He  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead. 

"What  you  have  just  told  me  justifies  me  in  telling 
you  what  I  thought  never  to  speak  of  again  in  this 
world.  You  have  done  the  only  thing  to  do  in  the  cir 
cumstances  —  it  has  taken  the  whole  courage  of  a  man ; 
but  I  never  for  a  moment  credited  you  with  sufficient 
manhood  to  dare  it.  It  only  goes  to  show  how  short 
sighted  we  humans  are,  how  incomprehensive  of  the 
workings  of  the  human  heart  and  soul;  we  think  we 
know  —  and  find  ourselves  utterly  confounded,  as  I 


Flamsted  Quarries  355 

am  now."  He  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  appar 
ently  deep  in  meditation. 

"Had  I  done,  when  I  was  twenty  years  old,  as  you 
are  going  to  do,  I  should  have  had  no  cause  to  regret; 
all  my  life  fails  to  make  good  in  that  respect.  —  When 
I  was  a  boy,  an  orphan,  my  heartstrings  wound  them 
selves  about  a  little  girl  in  France  who  was  kind  to  me. 
I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  that  the  thought  of  that  child 
was  one  of  the  motives  that  induced  me  to  investigate 
Aileen's  case,  when  we  saw  her  that  night  at  the 
vaudeville." 

He  looked  at  Champney,  who,  at  the  mention  of 
Aileen's  name,  had  started  involuntarily.  "You  re 
member  that  night?"  Champney  nodded.  How  well 
he  remembered  it !  But  he  gave  no  further  sign. 

"  I  was  destined  for  the  priesthood  later  on,  but  that 
did  not  stifle  the  love  in  my  heart  for  the  young  girl. 
It  was  in  my  novitiate  years.  I  never  dared  ask  my 
self  what  the  outcome  of  it  all  would  be;  I  wanted  to 
finish  my  novitiate  first.  I  knew  she  loved  me  with 
a  charming,  open,  young  girl's  love  that  in  the  freedom 
of  our  household  life  —  her  grandfather  was  my  great- 
uncle  on  my  mother's  side  —  found  expression  in  a 
sisterly  way;  and  in  the  circumstances  I  could  not  tell 
her  of  my  love.  It  was  the  last  year  of  my  novitiate 
when  I  discovered  the  fact  that  a  young  man,  in  the 
employ  of  her  grandfather,  was  paying  her  attention 
with  the  intention  of  asking  her  of  him  in  marriage. 
The  mere  thought  of  the  loss  of  her  drove  me  half  mad. 
I  took  the  first  opportunity,  when  at  home  for  the 
holidays,  to  tell  her  my  love,  and  I  threatened,  that, 
if  she  gave  herself  to  another,  I  would  end  all  —  either 
for  myself  or  for  him.  The  girl  was  frightened,  in 
dignant,  horrified  almost,  at  the  force  of  the  passion 


356  Flamsted  Quarries 

that  was  consuming  me ;  she  repelled  me  —  that  ended 
it;  I  took  it  for  granted  that  she  loved  that  other.  I 
lay  in  wait  for  him  one  night  as  he  was  going  to  the 
house;  taunted  him;  heaped  upon  him  such  abuse 
as  makes  a  man  another's  murderer;  I  goaded  him 
into  doing  what  I  had  intended.  He  struck  me  in  the 
face;  closed  with  me,  and  I  fought  him;  but  he  was 
wrestling  with  a  madman.  We  were  on  the  cliff  at 
Dieppe;  the  night  was  dark;  intentionally  I  forced 
him  towards  the  edge.  He  struggled  manfully,  trying 
to  land  a  blow  on  my  head  that  would  save  him;  he 
wrestled  with  me  and  he  was  a  man  of  great  strength  ; 
but  I  —  I  knew  I  could  tire  him  out.  It  was  dark  —  I 
knew  when  he  went  over  the  edge,  but  I  could  see  noth 
ing,  I  heard  nothing.  .  .  . 

"I  fled;  hid  myself;  but  I  was  caught;  held  for  a 
time  awaiting  the  outcome  of  the  man's  hurt.  Had  he 
died  it  would  have  been  manslaughter.  As  it  was  I 
knew  it  was  murder,  for  there  had  been  murder  in  my 
heart.  He  lived,  but  maimed  for  life.  The  lawyer, 
paid  for  by  my  great-uncle,  set  up  the  plea  of  self- 
defence.  I  was  cleared  in  the  law,  and  fled  to  America 
to  expiate.  I  know  now  that  there  was  but  one  ex 
piation  for  me  —  to  do  what  you  are  to  do ;  plead  guilty 
and  take  my  punishment  like  a  man.  I  failed  to  do 
it  —  and  /  'preach  of  manhood  to  you  !" 

There  was  silence  in  the  room.  Champney  broke 
it  and  his  voice  was  almost  unrecognizable;  it  was 
hoarse,  constrained : 

"But  your  love  was  noble  —  you  loved  her  with  all 
the  manhood  that  was  in  you." 

"  God  knows  I  did ;  but  that  does  not  alter  the  fact 
of  my  consequent  crime." 

He  looked  again  at  Champney  as  he  spoke  out  his 


Flamsted  Quarries  357 

conviction,  and  his  own  emotion  suffered  a  check  in 
his  amazement  at  the  change  in  the  countenance  before 
him.  He  had  seen  nothing  like  this  in  the  thirty-two 
hours  he  had  been  in  his  presence;  his  jaw  was  set; 
his  nostrils  white  and  sharpened;  the  pupils  of  his 
eyes  contracted  to  pin  points;  and  into  the  sallow 
cheeks,  up  to  the  forehead  knotted  as  with  intense 
pain,  into  the  sunken  temples,  the  blood  rushed  with 
a  force  that  threatened  physical  disaster,  only  to  re 
cede  as  quickly,  leaving  the  face  ghastly  white,  the 
eyelids  twitching,  the  muscles  about  the  mouth 
quivering. 

Noting  all  this  Father  Honore  read  deeper  still;  he 
knew  that  Champney  Googe  had  not  told  him  the 
whole,  possibly  not  the  half  —  and  never  would  fell. 
His  next  question  convinced  him  of  that. 

"May  I  ask  what  became  of  the  young  girl  you 
loved  ?  —  Don't  answer,  if  I  am  asking  too  much." 

"I  don't  know.  I  have  never  heard  from  her.  I 
can  only  surmise.  But  I  did  receive  a  letter  from  her 
when  I  was  in  prison,  before  my  trial  —  she  was  sum 
moned  as  witness;  and  oh,  the  infinite  mercy  of  a 
loving  woman's  heart!"  He  was  silent  a  moment. 

"She  took  so  much  blame  upon  herself,  telling  me 
that  she  had  not  known  her  own  heart;  that  she  tried 
to  think  she  loved  me  as  a  brother ;  that  she  had  been 
willing  to  let  it  go  on  so,  and  because  she  had  not  been 
brave  enough  to  be  honest  with  herself,  all  this  trouble 
had  come  upon  me  whom  she  acknowledged  she 
loved  —  upon  her  and  her  household.  She  begged 
me,  if  acquitted,  never  to  see  her,  never  to  communi 
cate  with  her  again.  There  was  but  one  duty  for  us 
both  she  said,  guilty  as  we  both  were  of  what  had 
occurred  to  wreck  a  human  being  for  life ;  to  go  each 


358  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  way  apart  forever  —  I  mine,  she  hers  —  to  ex 
piate  in  good  works,  in  loving  kindness  to  those  who 
might  need  our  help.  .  .  . 

"I  have  never  known  anything  further  —  heard  no 
word  —  made  no  inquiry.  At  that  time,  after  my  ac 
quittal,  my  great-uncle,  a  well-to-do  baker,  settled  a 
sum  of  money  on  the  man  who  had  been  in  his  employ  ; 
the  interest  of  it  would  support  him  in  his  incapacity  to 
do  a  man's  work  and  earn  a  decent  livelihood.  My 
uncle  said  then  I  was  never  again  to  darken  his  doors. 
He  desired  me  to  leave  no  address;  to  keep  secret  to 
myself  my  destination,  and  forever  after  my  where 
abouts.  I  obeyed  to  the  letter  —  now  enough  of  my 
self.  I  have  told  you  this  because,  as  a  man,  I  had  not 
the  face  to  sit  here  in  your  presence  and  hear  your  de 
cision,  without  showing  you  my  respect  for  your  cour 
age  —  and  I  have  taken  this  way  to  show  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  Champney  wrung  it. 
"You  don't  know  all,  or  you  would  have  no  respect," 
he  said  brokenly. 

The  two  men  looked  understandingly  into  each 
other's  eyes,  but  they  both  felt  intuitively  that  any 
prolongation  of  this  unwonted  emotional  strain  would 
be  injurious  to  both,  and  the  work  in  hand.  They,  at 
once,  in  tacit  understanding  of  each  other's  condition, 
put  aside  "the  things  that  were  behind"  and  "reached 
forth  to  those  that  were  before":  they  laid  plans  for 
the  speedy  execution  of  all  that  Champney's  decision 
involved. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  cannot  do,"  he  spoke  with 
decision;  "that  is  to  see  my  mother  before  my  com 
mitment  —  or  after.  It  is  the  only  thing  that  will 
break  me  down.  I  need  all  the  strength  of  control  I 
possess  to  go  through  this  thing." 


Flamsted  Quarries  359 

The  priest  knew  better  than  to  protest. 

"Telegraph  her  to-day  what  you  think  best  to  ease 
her  suspense.  I  will  write  her,  and  ask  you  to  deliver 
my  letter  to  her  after  you  have  seen  me  through.  I 
want  you  to  go  up  with  me  —  to  the  very  doors ;  and 
I  want  yours  to  be  the  last  known  face  I  see  on  enter 
ing.  Another  request:  I  don't  want  you,  my  mother, 
or  any  one  else  known  to  me,  to  communicate  with  me 
by  letter,  message,  or  even  gift  of  any  kind  during  my 
term,  whether  seven  years  or  twenty.  This  is  oblivion. 
I  cease  to  exist,  as  an  identity,  outside  the  walls.  I 
will  make  one  exception :  if  my  mother  should  fall  ill, 
write  me  at  once.  —  How  she  will  live,  I  don't  know ! 
I  dare  not  think  —  it  would  unsettle  my  reason ;  but 
she  has  friends;  she  has  you,  the  Colonel,  Tave,  Elvira 
Caukins;  they  will  not  see  her  want,  and  there's  the 
house;  it's  in  her  name." 

He  rose,  shook  himself  together,  drew  a  long  breath. 
"Now  let  us  go  to  work;  the  sooner  it's  over  the 
better  for  all  concerned.  —  I  suppose  the  clothes  I  had 
on  are  worth  nothing,  but  I'd  like  to  look  them  over." 

He  spoke  indifferently  and  went  into  the  adjoining 
bath  closet  where  Father  Honore,  not  liking  to  dispose 
of  them  until  Champney  should  have  spoken  of  them 
at  least,  had  left  the  clothes  in  a  bundle.  He  had  put 
the  little  handkerchief,  discolored  almost  beyond  recog 
nition,  in  with  them.  Champney  came  out  in  a  few 
minutes. 

"They're  no  good,"  he  said.  "I'll  have  to  wear 
these,  if  I  may.  I  believe  it's  one  of  the  regulations 
that  what  a  man  takes  in  of  his  own,  is  saved  for  him 
to  take  out,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes."  An  hour  later  when  Father  Honore  disposed 
of  the  bundle  to  the  janitor,  he  knew  that  Aileen's 


360  Flamsted  Quarries 

handkerchief  had  been  abstracted  —  and  he  read  still 
deeper  into  the  ways  of  the  human  heart.  .  .  . 

Within  ten  days  sentence  was  passed:  seven  years 
with  hard  labor. 

There  was  no  appeal  for  mercy,  and  speedy  com 
mitment  followed.  A  paragraph  in  the  daily  papers 
conveyed  a  knowledge  of  the  fact  to  the  world  in 
general;  and  within  ten  days,  the  world  in  general, 
as  usual,  forgot  the  circumstance;  it  was  only  one  of 
many. 


PART   FIFTH 

Shed   Number  Two 


PART   FIFTH 

Shed  Number  Two 


"~"H~~T  'S  a  wonder  ye  're  not  married  yet,  Aileen,  an' 
you  twenty-six." 

JL  It  was  Margaret  McCann,  the  "  Freckles  "  of  or 
phan  asylum  days,  who  spoke.  Her  utterance  was 
thick,  owing  to  the  quantity  of  pins  she  was  endeavoring 
to  hold  between  tightly  pressed  lips.  She  was  standing 
on  a  chair  putting  up  muslin  curtains  in  her  new  home 
at  The  Gore,  or  Quarry  End  Park,  as  it  was  now 
named,  and  Aileen  had  come  to  help  her. 

"It's  like  ye 're  too  purticular,"  she  added,  her 
first  remark  not  having  met  with  any  response.  She 
turned  on  the  chair  and  looked  down  upon  her  old 
chum. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  floor  surrounded  by  a  pile 
of  fresh-cut  muslin;  the  latest  McCann  baby  was 
tugging  with  might  and  main  at  her  apron  in  vain  en 
deavor  to  hoist  himself  upon  his  pudgy  uncertain  legs. 
Aileen  was  laughing  at  his  efforts.  Catching  him  sud 
denly  in  her  arms,  she  covered  the  little  soft  head,  al 
ready  sprouting  a  suspicion  of  curly  red  hair,  with 
hearty  kisses;  and  Billy,  entering  into  the  fun,  crowed 
and  gurgled,  clutching  wildly  at  the  dark  head  bent 
above  him  and  managing  now  and  then,  when  he  did 


364  Flamsted  Quarries 

not  grasp  too  wide  of  the  mark,  to  bury  his  chubby 
creased  hands  deep  in  its  heavy  waves. 

"  Oh,  Maggie,  you  're  like  all  the  rest !  Because 
you  've  a  good  husband  of  your  own,  you  think  every 
other  girl  must  go  and  do  likewise." 

"Now  ye  're  foolin',  Aileen,  like  as  you  used  to  at  the 
asylum.  But  I  mind  the  time  when  Luigi  was  the 
wan  b'y  for  you  —  I  wonder,  now,  you  could  n't  like 
him,  Aileen  ?  He  's  so  handsome  and  stiddy-like,  an' 
doin'  so  well.  Jim  says  he  '11  be  one  of  the  rich  men  of 
the  town  if  he  kapes  on  as  he  's  begun.  They  do  say 
as  how  Dulcie  Caukins  '11  be  cuttin'  you  out." 

"I  did  n't  love  him,  Maggie;  that 's  reason  enough." 
She  spoke  shortly.  Maggie  turned  again  from  her 
work  to  look  down  on  her  in  amazement. 

"You  was  always  that  way,  Aileen!"  she  exclaimed 
impatiently,  "thinkin'  nobody  but  a  lord  was  good 
enough  for  you,  an'  droppin'  Luigi  as  soon  as  ever  you 
got  in  with  the  Van  Ostend  folks;  and  as  for  'love'  — 
let  me  give  you  as  good  a  piece  of  advice  as  you  '11  get 
between  the  risin'  of  a  May  sun  and  its  settin' :  —  if 
you  see  a  good  man  as  loves  you  an'  is  willin'  to  marry 
you,  take  him,  an'  don't  you  leave  him  the  chanct  to 
get  cool  over  it.  Ye  '11  love  him  fast  enough  if  he  's 
good  to  you  —  like  my  Jim,"  she  added  proudly. 

"Oh,  your  Jim!  You're  always  quoting  him;  he 
is  n't  quite  perfection  even  if  he  is  '  your  Jim. '  ' 

"An'  is  it  parfection  ye  're  after?"  Maggie  was  a.pt 
in  any  state  of  excitement  to  revert  in  her  speech  to 
the  vernacular.  "'Deed  an'  ye '11  look  till  the  end  of 
yer  days  an'  risk  dyin'  a  downright  old  maid,  if  it  's 
parfection  ye  're  after  marryin'  in  a  man !  An'  I  don't 
need  a  gell  as  has  niver  been  married  to  tell  me  my 
Jim  ain't  parfection  nayther!" 


Flamsted  Quarries  365 

Maggie  resumed  her  work  in  a  huff;  Aileen  smiled 
to  herself. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  against  your  hus 
band,  Maggie;  I  was  only  speaking  in  a  general 
way." 

"An'  how  could  ye  mane  anything  against  me  hus 
band  in  a  gineral  or  a  purticular  way?  Sure  I  know 
he  's  got  a  temper;  an'  what  man  of  anny  sinse  has  n't, 
I  'd  like  to  know  ?  An'  he  's  not  settled-like  to  work 
in  anny  wan  place,  as  I  'd  like  to  have  him  be.  But 
Jim  's  young;  an'  a  man,  he  says,  can't  settle  to  anny 
regular  work  before  he  's  thirty.  He  says  all  the  pur- 
fessional  men  can't  get  onto  their  feet  in  a  business 
way  till  they  be  thirty;  an'  stone-cuttin',  Jim  says,  is 
his  purfession  like  as  if  't  was  a  lawyer's  or  a  doctor's 
or  a  priest's;  an'  Jim  says  he  loves  it.  An'  there  ain't 
a  better  worker  nor  Jim  in  the  sheds,  so  the  boss  says; 
an'  if  he  will  querrel  between  whiles  —  an'  I  'm  not 
denyin'  he  don't— -it 's  sure  the  other  man's  fault  for 
doin'  something  mane;  Jim  can't  stand  no  maneness. 
He  's  a  good  worker,  is  Jim,  an'  a  good  husband,  an'  a 
lovin'  father,  an'  a  good  provider,  an'  he  don't  drink, 
an'  he  ain't  the  slithery  kind  —  if  he  'd  'a'  been  that  I 
would  n't  married  him." 

There  was  a  note  of  extreme  authority  in  what 
Maggie  in  her  excitement  was  giving  expression  to. 
Now  that  Jim  McCann  was  back  and  at  work  in  the 
sheds  after  a  seven  years  absence,  it  was  noted  by  many, 
who  knew  his  wife  of  old,  that,  in  the  household,  it  was 
now  Mrs.  McCann  who  had  the  right  of  way.  She  was 
evidently  full  of  her  subject  at  the  present  moment  and, 
carried  away  by  the  earnestness  of  her  expressed 
convictions,  she  paid  no  heed  to  Aileen's  non- 
responsiveness. 


366  Flamsted  Quarries 

"  An'  I  'm  that  proud  that  I  'm  Mrs.  James  Patrick 
McCann,  wid  a  good  house  over  me  head,  an'  a  good 
husband  to  pay  rint  that  '11  buy  it  on  the  insthalment 
plan,  an'  two  little  gells  an'  a  darlin'  baby  to  fill  it, 
that  I  be  thankin'  God  whiniver  Jim  falls  to  swearin' 
—  an'  that's  ivery  hour  in  the  day;  but  it's  only  a 
habit  he  can't  be  broke  of,  for  Father  Honore*  was 
after  talkin'  wid  him,  an'  poor  Jim  was  that  put  out 
wid  himself,  that  he  forgot  an'  swore  his  hardest  to  the 
priest  that  he  'd  lave  off  swearin'  if  only  he  knew  whin 
he  was  doin'  it !  But  he  had  to  give  up  tryin',  for  he 
found  himself  swearin'  at  the  baby  he  loved  him  so. 
An'  whin  he  told  Father  Honore  the  trouble  he  had 
wid  himself  an*  the  b'y,  that  darlin'  man  just  smiled 
an'  says :  —  '  McCann,  there  's  other  ways  of  thankin' 
God  for  a  good  home,  an'  a  lovin'  wife,  and  a  foine  b'y 
like  yours,  than  tellin'  yer  beads  an'  sayin'  your  pray 
ers.'  —  He  said  that,  he  did ;  an'  I  say,  I  'm  thankin' 
God  ivery  hour  in  the  day  that  I  've  got  a  good  hus 
band  to  swear,  an'  a  cellar  to  fill  wid  fuel  an'  potaters, 
an'  a  baby  to  put  to  me  breast,  an'  —  an'  —  it 's  the 
same  I  'm  wishin'  for  you,  me  dear." 

There  was  a  suspicious  tremble  in  Maggie's  voice  as 
she  turned  again  to  her  work. 

Aileen  spoke  slowly:  "Indeed,  I  wish  I  had  them 
all,  Maggie;  but  those  things  are  not  for  me." 

"Not  for  you!"  Maggie  dashed  a  tear  from  her 
eyes.  "  An'  why  not  for  you,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  Is  n't 
ivery  wan  sayin'  ye  've  got  the  voice  fit  for  the  op- 
payra  ?  An'  is  n't  all  the  children  an'  the  quarrymen 
just  mad  over  yer  teachin'  an'  singin'?  An'  look  at 
what  yer  know  an'  can  do !  Did  n't  wan  of  the  Sisters 
tell  me  the  other  day :  '  Mrs.  McCann,'  says  she,  '  Aileen 
Armagh  is  an  expurrt  in  embroidery,  an'  could  earn 


Flamsted  Quarries  367 

her  livin'  by  it.'  An'  wasn't  Mrs.  Caukins  after 
praisin'  yer  cookin'  an'  sayin'  you  beat  the  whole  Gore 
on  yer  doughnuts  ?  An'  did  n't  the  Sisters  come  askin' 
me  the  other  day  if  I  had  your  receipt  for  the  milk- 
rice  ?  Jim  says  there  's  a  man  for  ivery  woman  if  she 
did  but  know  it.  —  There  now,  I  'm  glad  to  see  yer 
smilin'  an'  lookin'  like  yer  old  self !  Just  tell  me  if  the 
curtains  be  up  straight?  Jim  can't  abide  annything 
that  ain't  on  the  square.  Straight,  be  they?" 

"Yes,  straight  as  a  string,"  said  Aileen,  laughing 
outright  at  Freckles'  eloquence  —  the  eloquence  of 
one  who  was  wont  to  be  slow  of  speech  before  matri 
mony  loosened  her  tongue  and  home  love  taught  her 
the  right  word  in  the  right  place. 

"Straight,  is  it?  Then  I'll  mount  down  an'  we'll 
sit  out  in  the  kitchen  an'  hem  the  rest.  It 's  Doosie 
Caukins  has  begged  the  loan  of  the  two  little  gells  for 
the  afternoon.  The  twins  seem  to  me  most  like  my 
own  —  rale  downright  swate  gells,  an'  it 's  hopin'  I  am 
they  '11  do  well  when  it'  comes  to  their  marryin'." 

Aileen  laughed  merrily  at  the  matrimonial  persist 
ence  of  her  old  chum's  thoughts. 

"Oh,  Maggie,  you  are  an  incorrigible  matchmaker!" 

She  picked  up  the  baby  and  the  yards  of  muslin  she 
had  been  measuring  for  window  lengths;  leaving 
Maggie  to  follow,  she  went  out  into  the  kitchen  and  de 
posited  Billy  in  the  basket-crib  beside  her  chair.  Mag 
gie  joined  her  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  It  seems  like  old  times  for  you  an'  me  to  be  chattin' 
together  again  so  friendly-like  —  put  a  finger's  length 
into  the  hem  of  the  long  ones;  do  you  remember  when 
Sister  Angelica  an'  you  an'  me  was  cuddled  together  to 
watch  thim  dance  the  minute  over  at  the  Van  Ostends'  ? 
—  Och,  youdarlin'!" 


368  Flamsted  Quarries 

« 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  caught  up  the  baby  who 
was  holding  out  both  arms  to  her  and  trying  in  his 
semi-articulate  way  to  indicate  his  preference  of  her 
lap  to  the  basket. 

"What  fun  we  had!"  Aileen  spoke  half-heartedly; 
the  mention  of  that  name  intensified  the  pain  of  an 
ever  present  thought. 

"An'  did  ye  read  her  marriage  in  the  papers,  I  guess 
't  was  a  year  gone?" 

Aileen  nodded. 

"Jim  read  it  out  to  me  wan  night  after  supper,  an' 
I  got  so  homesick  of  a  suddin'  for  the  Caukinses,  an' 
you,  an'  the  quarries,  an'  Mrs.  Googe  —  it  was  before 
me  b'y  come  —  that  I  fell  to  cryin'  an'  nearly  cried  me 
eyes  out ;  an'  Jim  promised  me  then  and  there  he  'd 
come  back  to  Flamsted  for  good  and  all.  But  he 
could  n't  help  sayin' :  '  What  the  divil  are  ye  cryin' 
about,  Maggie  gell?  I  was  readin'  of  the  weddin'  to 
ye,  and  thinkin'  to  hearten  ye  up  a  bit,  an'  here  ye  be 
cryin'  fit  to  break  yer  heart,  an'  takin'  on  as  if  ye  'd 
niver  had  a  weddin'  all  by  yerself ! '  An'  that  made  me 
laugh;  but,  afterwards,  I  fell  to  cryin'  the  harder, 
an'  told  him  I  could  n't  help  it,  for  I  'd  got  such  a 
good  lovin'  husband,  an'  me  an  orphan  as  had 
nobody  — 

"  An'  then  I  stopped,  for  Jim  took  me  in  his  arms  — 
he  was  in  the  rockin' -chair  —  and  rocked  back  an' 
forth  wid  me  like  a  mother  does  wid  a  six-months' 
child,  an'  kept  croonin'  an'  croonin'  till  I  fell  asleep 
wid  my  head  on  his  shoulder  —  "  Mrs.  McCann  drew 
a  long  breath  —  "  Och,  Aileen,  it 's  beautiful  to  be 
married !" 

For  a  while  the  two  worked  in  silence,  broken  only 
by  little  Billy  McCann,  who  was  blissfully  gurgling 


Flamsted  Quarries  369 

emphatic  endorsement  of  everything  his  mother  said. 
The  bright  sunshine  of  February  filled  the  barren  Gore 
full  to  the  brim  with  sparkling  light.  From  time  to 
time  the  sharp  crescendo  sz-szz-szzz  of  the  trolleys, 
that  now  ran  from  The  Corners  to  Quarry  End  Park  at 
the  head  of  The  Gore,  teased  the  still  cold  air.  Maggie 
was  in  a  reminiscent  mood,  being  wrought  upon  un 
wittingly  by  the  sunny  quiet  and  homey  kitchen 
warmth.  She  looked  over  the  head  of  her  baby  to 
Aileen. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  B'y  who  danced  with  the 
Marchioness,  and  when  they  was  through  stood  head 
downwards  with  his  slippers  kicking  in  the  air? 

"Yes,  and  the  butler,  and  how  he  hung  on  to  his 
coat-tails !" 

Maggie  laughed.  "I  wonder  now  could  it  be  the 
B'y  —  I  mane  the  man  she  married?" 

Aileen  looked  up  from  her  work.  "  Yes,  he  's  the 
one." 

"An'  how  did  you  know  that?"  Maggie  asked  in 
some  surprise. 

"Mrs.  Champney  told  me  —  and  then  I  knew  she 
liked  him." 

"Who,  the  Marchioness?" 

"Yes;  I  knew  by  the  way  she  wrote  about  him 
that  she  liked  him." 

"  Well,  now,  who  'd  'a'  thought  that !  The  very 
same  B'y!"  she  exclaimed,  at  the  same  time  looking 
puzzled  as  if  not  quite  grasping  the  situation.  "Why, 
I  thought  —  I  guess  't  was  Romanzo  wrote  me  just 
about  that  time  —  that  she  was  in  love  with  Mr. 
Champney  Googe."  Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  on 
the  last  words.  "  Would  n't  it  have  been  just  awful  if 
she  had!" 


370  Flamsted  Quarries 

"She  might  have  done  a  worse  thing  than  to  love 
him."  Aileen's  voice  was  hard  in  spite  of  her  effort  to 
speak  naturally. 

Maggie  broke  forth  in  protest. 

"  Now,  how  can  you  say  that,  Aileen !  What  would 
the  poor  gell's  life  have  been  worth  married  to  a  man 
that 's  in  for  seven  years !  Jim  says  when  he  comes 
out  he  can't  niver  vote  again  for  prisident,  an'  it 's  ten 
chanct  to  wan  that  he  '11  get  a  job." 

In  her  earnestness  she  failed  to  notice  that  Aileen's 
face  had  borrowed  its  whiteness  from  the  muslin  over 
which  she  was  bending. 

"  Aileen—  " 

"Yes,  Maggie." 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  tell  you  something.  Jim  told  me  the 
other  day ;  he  would  n't  mind  my  tellin'  you,  but  he 
says  he  don't  want  anny  wan  of  the  fam'ly  to  get  wind 
of  it." 

"What  is  it?"    Aileen  looked  up  half  fearfully. 

"  Gracious,  you  look  as  if  you  'd  seen  a  ghost ! 
'T  is  n't  annything  so  rale  dreadful,  but  it  gives  you  a 
kind  of  onaisy  feelin'  round  your  heart." 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me  quick."  She  spoke  again  per 
emptorily  in  order  to  cover  her  fear.  Maggie  looked 
at  her  wonderingly,  and  thought  to  herself  that  Aileen 
had  changed  beyond  her  knowledge. 

"There  was  a  man  Jim  knew  in  the  other  quarries 
we  was  at,  who  got  put  into  that  same  prison  for  two 
years  —  for  breakin'  an'  enterin'  —  an'  Jim  see  him 
not  long  ago;  an'  when  Jim  told  him  where  he  was 
workin'  the  man  said  just  before  he  was  comin'  out, 
Mr.  Googe  come  in,  an'  he  see  him  breakin''  stones  ivid 
a  prison  gang  —  rale  toughs;  think  of  that,  an'  he  a 
gentleman  born !  Jim  said  that  was  tough ;  he  says 


Flamsted  Quarries  371 

it's  back-breakin'  work;  that  quarryin'  an'  cuttin' 
ain't  nothin'  to  that  —  ten  hours  a  day,  too.  My  heart 's 
like  to  break  for  Mrs.  Googe.  I  think  of  it  ivery  time 
I  see  her  now;  an'  just  look  how  she's  workin'  her 
fingers  to  the  bone  to  support  herself  widout  help! 
Mrs.  Caukins  says  she  's  got  seventeen  mealers  among 
the  quarrymen  now,  an'  there  '11  be  more  next  spring. 
What  do  you  s'pose  her  son  would  say  to  that?" 

She  pressed  her  own  boy  a  little  more  closely  to  her 
breast;  the  young  mother's  heart  was  stirred  within 
her.  "Mrs.  Caukins  says  Mrs.  Champney  could  help 
her  an'  save  her  lots,  but  she  won't ;  she  's  no  mind 
to." 

"I  don't  believe  Mrs.  Googe  would  accept  any  help 
from  Mrs.  Champney  —  and  I  don't  blame  her,  either. 
I'd  rather  starve  than  be  beholden  to  her!"  The 
blood  rushed  into  the  face  bent  over  the  muslin. 

"Why  don't  you  lave  her,  Aileen?  I  would  —  the 
stingy  old  screw  !  " 

Aileen  folded  her  work  and  laid  it  aside  before  she 
answered. 

"I  am  going  soon,  Maggie;  I've  stood  it  about  as 
many  years  as  I  can  — 

"  Oh,  but  I  'm  glad  !  It  '11  be  like  gettin'  out  of  the 
jail  yerself,  for  all  you  've  made  believe  you  've  lived 
in  a  palace  —  but  ye 're  niver  goin'  so  early?"  she 
protested  earnestly. 

"Yes,  I  must,  Maggie.  You  are  not  to  tell  anyone 
what  I  've  said  about  leaving  Mrs.  Champney  —  not 
even  Jim." 

Maggie's  face  fell.  "  Dear  knov,-s,  I  can  promise  you 
not  to  tell  Jim ;  but  it  's  like  I  '11  be  tellin'  him  in  me 
slape.  It's' a  trick  I  have,  he  says,  whin  I'm  tryin' 
to  kape  something  from  him." 


372  Flamsted  Quarries 

She  laughed  happily,  and  bade  Billy  "shake  a  day- 
day"  to  the  pretty  lady;  which  behest  Billy,  half 
turning  his  rosy  little  face  from  the  maternal  fount, 
obeyed  perfunctorily  and  then,  smiling,  closed  his 
sleepy  eyes  upon  his  mother's  breast. 


II 

ALEEN  took  that  picture  of  intimate  love  and 
warmth  with  her  out  into  the  keen  frosty  air 
of  late  February.  But  its  effect  was  not  to 
soften,  to  warm;  it  hardened  rather.  The  thought  of 
Maggie  with  her  baby  boy  at  her  breast,  of  her  cosy 
home,  her  loyalty  to  her  husband  and  her  love  for  him, 
of  her  thankfulness  for  the  daily  mercy  of  the  where 
withal  to  feed  the  home  mouths,  reacted  sharply, 
harshly,  upon  the  mood  she  was  in ;  for  with  the  thought 
of  that  family  life  and  family  ties  —  the  symbol  of  all 
that  is  sane  and  fruitful  of  the  highest  good  in  our 
humanity  — -  was  associated  by  extreme  contrast  an 
other  thought :  — 

"And  he  is  breaking  stones  with  a  'gang  of  toughs' 
-  breaking  stones !  Not  for  the  sake  of  the  pittance 
that  will  procure  for  him  his  daily  bread,  but  because 
he  is  forced  to  the  toil  like  any  galley  slave.  The  prison 
walls  are  frowning  behind  him;  the  prison  cell  is  his 
only  home ;  the  tin  pan  of  coarse  food,  which  is  handed 
to  him  as  he  lines  up  with  hundreds  of  others  after  the 
day's  work,  is  the  only  substitute  for  the  warm  home- 
hearth,  the  lighted  supper  table,  the  merry  give-and- 
take  of  family  life  that  eases  a  man  after  his  day's 
toil." 

Her  very  soul  was  in  rebellion. 

She  stopped  short  and  looked  about  her.  She  was 
on  the  road  to  Father  Honore's  house.  It  was  just 
four  o'clock,  for  the  long  whistle  was  sounding  from 


374  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  stone  sheds  down  in  the  valley.  She  saw  the  quarry- 
men  start  homewards.  Dark  irregular  files  of  them 
began  crawling  up  over  the  granite  ledges,  many  of 
which  were  lightly  covered  with  snow.  Although  it 
was  February,  the  winter  was  mild  for  this  latitude, 
and  the  twelve  hundred  men  in  The  Gore  had  lost  but 
a  few  days  during  the  last  three  months  on  account  of 
the  weather.  Work  had  been  plenty,  and  the  spring 
promised,  so  the  manager  said,  a  rush  of  business.  She 
watched  them  for  a  while. 

"  And  they  are  going  to  their  homes  —  and  he  is 
still  breaking  stones!"  Her  thoughts  revolved  about 
that  one  fact. 

A  sudden  rush  of  tears  blinded  her;  she  drew  her 
breath  hard.  What  if  she  were  to  go  to  Father  Ilonore 
and  tell  him  something  of  her  trouble  ?  Would  it  help  ? 
Would  it  ease  the  intolerable  pain  at  her  heart,  lessen 
the  load  on  her  mind? 

She  dared  not  answer,  dared  not  think  about  it.  In 
voluntarily  she  started  forward  at  a  quick  pace  towards 
the  stone  house  over  by  the  pines  —  a  distance  of  a 
quarter  of  a  mile. 

The  sun  was  nearing  the  rim  of  the  Flamsted  Hills. 
Far  beyond  them,  the  mighty  shoulder  of  Katahdin, 
mantled  with  white,  caught  the  red  gleam  and  lent  to 
the  deep  blue  of  the  northern  heavens  a  faint  rose  re 
flection  of  the  setting  sun.  The  children,  just  from 
school,  were  shouting  at  their  rough  play  —  snow 
balling,  sledding,  skating  and  tobogganning  on  that 
portion  of  the  pond  which  had  been  cleared  of  snow. 
The  great  derricks  on  the  ledges  creaked  and  groaned  as 
the  remaining  men  made  all  fast  for  the  night;  like  a 
gigantic  cobweb  their  supporting  wires  stretched  thick, 
enmeshed,  and  finely  dark  over  the  white  expanse  of  the 


Flamsted  Quarries  375 

quarries.  From  the  powerhouse  a  column  of  steam 
rose  straight  and  steady  into  the  windless  air. 

Hurrying  on,  Aileen  looked  upon  it  with  set  lips 
and  a  hardening  heart.  She  had  come  to  hate,  almost, 
the  sight  of  this  life  of  free  toil  for  the  sake  of  love  and 
home. 

It  was  a  woman  who  was  thinking  these  thoughts  in 
her  rapid  walk  to  the  priest's  house  —  a  woman  of 
twenty-six  who  for  more  than  seven  years  had  suffered 
in  silence ;  suffered  over  and  over  again  the  humiliation 
that  had  been  put  upon  her  womanhood ;  who,  despite 
that  humiliation,  could  not  divest  herself  of  the  idea  that 
she  still  clung  to  her  girlhood's  love  for  the  man 
who  had  humiliated  her.  She  told  herself  again  and 
again  that  she  was  idealizing  that  first  feeling  for  him, 
instead  of  accepting  the  fact  that,  as  a  woman,  she 
would  be  incapable,  if  the  circumstances  were  to  re 
peat  themselves  now,  of  experiencing  it. 

Since  that  fateful  night  in  The  Gore,  Champney 
Googe's  name  had  never  voluntarily  passed  her  lips. 
So  far  as  she  knew,  no  one  so  much  as  suspected  that 
she  was  a  factor  in  his  escape  —  for  Luigi  had  kept 
her  secret.  Sometimes  when  she  felt,  rather  than  saw, 
Father  Honore's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  troubled  ques 
tioning,  the  blood  would  rush  to  her  cheeks  and  she 
could  but  wonder  in  dumb  misery  if  Champney  had 
told  him  anything  concerning  her  during  those  ten  days 
in  New  York. 

For  six  years  there  had  been  a  veil,  as  it  were,  drawn 
between  the  lovely  relations  that  had  previously  existed 
between  Father  Honore'  and  this  firstling  of  his  flock 
in  Flamsted.  For  a  year  after  his  experience  with 
Champney  Googe  in  New  York,  he  waited  for  some 
sign  from  Aileen  that  she  was  ready  to  open  her  heart 


376  Flamsted  Quarries 

to  him;  to  clear  up  the  mystery  of  the  handkerchief; 
to  free  herself  from  what  was  evidently  troubling  her, 
wearing  upon  her,  changing  her  in  disposition  —  but 
not  for  the  better.  Aileen  gave  no  sign.  Another  year 
passed,  but  Aileen  gave  no  sign,  and  Father  Honore 
was  still  waiting. 

The  priest  did  not  believe  in  forcing  open  the  portals 
to  the  secret  chambers  of  the  human  heart.  He  re 
spected  the  individual  soul  and  its  workings  as  a  part 
of  the  divinely  organized  human.  He  believed  that, 
in  time,  Aileen  would  come  to  him  of  her  own  accord 
and  seek  the  help  she  so  sorely  needed.  Meanwhile, 
he  determined  to  await  patiently  the  fulness  of  that 
time.  He  had  waited  already  six  years. 

He  was  looking  over  and  arranging  some  large  pho 
tographs  of  cathedrals  —  Cologne,  Amiens,  West 
minster,  Mayence,  St.  Mark's,  Chester,  and  York  — 
and  the  detail  of  nave,  chancel,  and  choir.  One  showed 
the  exquisite  sculpture  on  a  flying  buttress;  another 
the  carving  of  a  choir-stall  canopy;  a  third  the  figure- 
crowded  facade  of  a  western  porch.  Here  was  the 
famous  rose  window  in  the  Antwerp  transept;  the 
statue  of  one  of  the  apostles  in  Naumburg;  the  nave 
of  Cologne;  the  conglomerate  of  chapels  about  the 
apse  of  Mayence ;  the  Angel's  Pillar  at  Strasburg  — 
they  were  a  joy  in  line  and  proportion  to  the  eye,  in 
effect  and  spirit  of  purpose  to  the  understanding  mind, 
the  receptive  soul. 

Father  Honore  was  revelling  in  the  thought  of  the 
men's  appreciative  delight  when  he  should  show  them 
these  lovely  stones  —  across-the-sea  kin  to  their  own 
quarry  granite.  His  semi-monthly  talks  with  the 
quarrymen  and  stone-cutters  were  assuming,  after 


Flamsted  Quarries  377 

many  years,  the  proportions  of  lectures  on  art  and 
scientific  themes.  Already  many  a  professor  from  some 
far-away  university  had  accepted  his  invitation  to  give 
of  his  best  to  the  granite  men  of  Maine.  Rarely  had 
they  found  a  more  fitting  or  appreciative  audience. 

"How  divine!"  he  murmured  to  himself,  his  eyes 
dwelling  lovingly  —  at  the  same  time  his  pencil  was 
making  notes  —  on  the  'Prentice  Pillar  in  Roslyn 
Chapel.  Then  he  smiled  at  the  thought  of  the  contrast 
it  offered  to  his  own  chapel  in  the  meadows  by  the  lake 
shore.  In  that,  every  stone,  as  in  the  making  of  the 
Tabernacle  of  old,  had  been  a  free-will  offering  from 
the  men  —  each  laid  in  its  place  by  a  willing  worker ; 
and,  because  willing,  the  rough  walls  were  as  elo 
quent  of  earnest  endeavor  as  the  famed  'Prentice  Pillar 
itself. 

"I  'd  like  to  see  such  a  one  as  this  in  our  chapel!" 
He  was  talking  to  himself  as  was  his  way  when  alone. 
"I  believe  Luigi  Poggi,  if  he  had  kept  on  in  the  sheds, 
would  in  time  have  given  this  a  close  second." 

He  took  up  the  magnifying  glass  to  examine  the 
curled  edges  of  the  stone  kale  leaves. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

He  hastily  placed  the  photographs  in  a  long  box 
beside  the  table,  and,  instead  of  saying  "Come  in," 
stepped  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

Aileen  stood  there.  The  look  in  her  eyes  as  she 
raised  them  to  his,  and  said  in  a  subdued  voice,  "Father 
Honore,  can  you  spare  me  a  little  time,  all  to  myself?" 
gave  him  hope  that  the  fulness  of  time  was  come. 

"I  always  have  time  for  you,  Aileen;  come  in.  I  '11 
start  up  the  fire  a  bit;  it  's  growing  much  colder." 

He  laid  the  wood  on  the  hearth,  and  with  the  bellows 
blew  it  to  a  leaping  flame.  While  he  was  thus  occu- 


378  Flamsted  Quarries 

pied,  Aileen  looked  around  her.  She  knew  this  room 
and  loved  it. 

The  stone  fireplace  was  deep  and  ample,  built  by 
Father  Honore,  —  indeed,  the  entire  one  storey  house 
was  his  handiwork.  Above  it  hung  a  large  wooden 
crucifix.  On  the  shelf  beneath  were  ranged  some 
superb  specimens  of  quartz  and  granite.  The  plain 
deal  table,  also  of  ample  proportions,  was  piled  at  one 
end  high  with  books  and  pamphlets.  Two  large  win 
dows  overlooked  the  pond,  the  sloping  depression  of 
The  Gore,  the  course  of  the  Rothel,  and  the  head 
waters  of  Lake  Mesantic.  Some  plain  wooden  arm 
chairs  were  set  against  the  walls  that  had  been  rough 
plastered  and  washed  with  burnt  sienna  brown.  On 
them  was  hung  an  exquisite  engraving  —  the  Sistine 
Madonna  and  Child.  There  were  also  a  few  etchings, 
among  them  a  copy  of  Whistler's  The  T fames  by  Lon 
don  Bridge,  and  a  view  of  Niagara  by  moonlight.  A 
mineral  cabinet,  filled  to  overflowing  with  fine  speci 
mens,  extended  the  entire  length  of  one  wall.  The 
pine  floor  was  oiled  and  stained;  large  hooked  rugs, 
genuine  products  of  Maine,  lay  here  and  there  upon  it. 

Many  a  man  coming  in  from  the  quarries  or  the 
sheds  with  a  grievance,  a  burden,  or  a  joy,  felt  the  in 
fluence  of  this  simple  room.  Many  a  woman  brought 
here  her  heavy  over-charged  heart  and  was  eased  in 
its  fire-lighted  atmosphere  of  welcome.  Many  a  child 
brought  hither  its  spring  offering  of  the  first  mitchella,  or 
its  autumn  gift  of  checkerberries.  Many  a  girl,  many 
a  boy  had  met  here  to  rehearse  a  Christmas  glee  or  an 
Easter  anthem.  Many  a  night  these  walls  echoed  to 
the  strains  of  the  priest's  violin,  when  he  sat  alone  by 
the  fireside  with  only  the  Past  for  a  guest.  And  these 
combined  influences  lingered  in  the  room,  mellowed 


Flamsted  Quarries  379 

it,  hallowed  it,  and  made  themselves  felt  to  one  and  all 
as  beneficent  —  even  as  now  to  Aileen. 

Father  Honore  placed  two  of  the  wooden  chairs 
before  the  blazing  fire.  Aileen  took  one. 

"Draw  up  a  little  nearer,  Aileen;  you  look  chilled." 
He  noticed  her  extreme  pallor  and  the  slight  trembling 
of  her  shoulders. 

She  glanced  out  of  the  window  at  some  quarrymen 
who  were  passing. 

"You  don't  think  we  shall  be  interrupted,  do  you?" 
she  asked  rather  nervously. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  '11  just  step  to  the  kitchen  and  give  a 
word  to  Therese.  She  is  a  good  watchdog  when  I  am 
not  to  be  disturbed."  He  opened  a  door  at  the  back  of 
the  room. 

"Therese." 

"On  y  va." 

An  old  French  Canadian  appeared  in  answer  to  his 
call.  He  addressed  her  in  French. 

"If  any  one  should  knock,  Therese,  just  step  to  the 
kitchen  porch  door  and  say  that  I  am  engaged  for  an 
hour,  at  least." 

"Oui,  oui,  Pere  Honore." 

He  closed  the  door. 

"There,  now  you  can  have  your  chat  'all  to  yourself 
as  you  requested,"  he  said  smiling.  He  sat  down  in  the 
other  chair  he  had  drawn  to  the  fire. 

"I  've  been  over  to  Maggie's  this  afternoon  —  " 

She  hesitated ;  it  was  not  easy  to  find  an  opening 
for  her  long  pent  trouble. 

Father  Honore  spread  his  hands  to  the  blaze. 

"  She  has  a  fine  boy.  I  'm  glad  McCann  is  back 
again,  and  I  hope  anchored  here  for  life.  He  's  trying 
to  buy  his  home  he  tells  me." 


380  Flamsted  Quarries 

"  So  Maggie  said  —  Father  Honore ;  "  she  clasped 
and  unclasped  her  hands  nervously;  "I  think  it 's  that 
that  has  made  me  come  to  you  to-day." 

"That?  —  I  think  I  don't  quite  understand,  Aileen." 

"The  home  —  I  think  I  never  felt  so  alone  —  so 
homeless  as  when  I  was  there  with  her  —  and  the 
baby  —  " 

She  looked  down,  struggling  to  keep  back  the  tears. 
Despite  her  efforts  the  bright  drops  plashed  one  after 
the  other  on  her  clasped  hands.  She  raised  her  eyes, 
looking  almost  defiantly  through  the  falling  tears  at 
the  priest;  the  blood  surged  into  her  white  cheeks; 
the  rush  of  words  followed :  — 

"I  have  no  home  —  I've  never  had  one  —  never 
shall  have  one  —  it 's  not  for  me,  that  paradise ;    it 's 
for  men  and  women  like  Jim  McCann  and  Maggie.  - 
Oh,   why  did   I  come  here!"    she  cried  out  wildly; 
"why  did  you  put    me    there  in  that  house?  —  Why 
did  n't  Mr.  Van  Ostend  let  me  alone  where  I  was  — 
happy  with  the  rest !     Why,"   she  demanded  almost 
fiercely,  "why  can't  a  child's  life  be  her  own  to  do  with 
what  she  chooses?    Why  has  any  human  being  a  right 
to  say  to  another,  whether  young  or  old,  'You  shall 
live   here   and    not    there'?      Oh,   it   is   tyrannical  — 
it    is   tyranny   of  the   worst   kind,  and  what  have  n't 
I   had   to    suffer    from   it    all !     It    is    like    Hell    on 
earth!" 

Her  breath  caught  in  great  sobs  that  shook  her; 
her  eyes  flashed  through  blinding  tears;  her  cheeks 
were  crimson;  she  continued  to  clasp  and  unclasp 
her  hands. 

The  peculiar  ivory  tint  of  the  strong  pock-marked 
face  opposite  her  took  on,  during  this  outburst,  a  slightly 
livid  hue.  Every  word  she  uttered  was  a  blow;  for  in 


Flamsted  Quarries  381 

it  was  voiced  misery  of  mind,  suffering  and  hardness 
of  heart,  despair,  ingratitude,  undeserved  reproach, 
anger,  defiance  and  the  ignoring  of  all  facts  save  those 
in  the  recollection  of  which  she  had  lost  all  poise,  all 
control  —  And  she  was  still  so  young !  What  was  be 
hind  these  facts  that  occasioned  such  a  tirade? 

This  was  the  priest's  problem. 

He  waited  a  moment  to  regain  his  own  control.  The 
ingratitude,  the  bitter  injustice  had  shocked  him  out 
of  it.  Her  mood  seemed  one  of  defiance  only.  The 
woman  before  him  was  one  he  had  never  known  in  the 
Aileen  Armagh  of  the  last  fourteen  years.  He  knew, 
moreover,  that  he  must  not  speak  —  dare  not,  as  a 
sacred  obligation  to  his  office,  until  he  no  longer  felt 
the  touch  of  anger  he  experienced  upon  hearing  her 
unrestrained  outburst.  It  was  but  a  moment  before 
that  touch  was  removed;  his  heart  softened  towards 
her;  filled  suddenly  with  a  pitying  love,  for  with  his 
mind's  eye  he  saw  the  small  blood-stained  handker 
chief  in  his  hand,  the  initials  A.  A.,  the  man  on  the  cot 
from  whose  arm  he  had  taken  it  more  than  six  years 
before.  Six  years !  How  she  must  have  suffered  — 
and  in  silence ! 

"Aileen,"  he  said  at  last  and  very  gently,  "whatever 
was  done  for  you  at  that  time  was  done  with  the  best 
intentions  for  your  good.  Believe  me,  could  Mr.  Van 
Ostend  and  I  have  foreseen  such  resulting  wretched 
ness  as  this  for  our  efforts,  we  should  never  have  in 
sisted  on  carrying  out  our  plan  for  you.  But,  like 
yourself,  we  are  human  —  we  could  not  foresee  this 
any  more  than  you  could.  There  is,  however,  one 
course  always  open  to  you  — 

"What?"  she  demanded;  her  voice  was  harsh 
from  continued  struggle  with  her  complex  emotions. 


382  Flamsted  Quarries 

She  was  past  all  realization  of  what  she  owed  to  the 
dignity  of  his  office. 

"You  have  long  been  of  age;  you  are  at  liberty  to 
leave  Mrs.  Champney  whenever  you  will." 

"I  am  going  to."  The  response  came  prompt  and 
hard. 

"And  what  then?" 

"  I  don't  know  —  yet  — ; "  her  speech  faltered ;  "  but 
I  want  to  try  the  stage.  Every  one  says  I  have  the 
voice  for  it,  and  I  suppose  I  could  make  a  hit  in  light 
operetta  or  vaudeville  as  well  now  as  when  I  was  a 
child.  A  few  years  more  and  I  shall  be  too  old." 

"And  you  think  you  can  enter  into  such  publicity 
without  protection?" 

"  Oh,  I  'm  able  to  protect  myself  —  I  've  done  that 
already."  She  spoke  with  bitterness. 

"True,  you  are  a  woman  now  —  but  still  a  young 
woman  —  " 

Father  Honore  stopped  there.  He  was  making  no 
headway  with  her.  He  knew  only  too  well  that,  as  yet, 
he  had  not  begun  to  get  beneath  the  surface.  When 
he  spoke  it  was  as  if  he  were  merely  thinking  aloud. 

"  Somehow,  I  had  n't  thought  that  you  would  be  so 
ready  to  leave  us  all  —  so  many  friends.  Are  we  noth 
ing  to  you,  Aileen?  Will  you  make  better,  truer  ones 
among  strangers?  I  can  hardly  think  so." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  began  to 
sob  again,  but  brokenly. 

"Aileen,  my  daughter,  what  is  it?  Is  there  any 
new  trouble  preparing  for  you  at  The  Bow?" 

She  shook  her  head.  The  tears  trickled  through  her 
fingers. 

"Does  Mrs.  Champney  know  that  you  are  going  to 
leave  her?" 


Flamsted  Quarries  383 

"No." 

"Has  it  become  unbearable?" 

Another  shake  of  the  head.  She  searched  blindly 
for  her  handkerchief,  drew  it  forth  and  wiped  her  eyes 
and  face. 

"  No ;  she  's  kinder  than  she  's  been  for  a  long  time 
—  ever  since  that  last  stroke.  She  wants  me  with  her 
most  of  the  time." 

"Has  she  ever  spoken  to  you  about  remaining  with 
her?" 

"Yes,  a  good  many  times.  She  tried  to  make  me 
promise  I  would  stay  till  —  till  she  does  n't  need  me. 
But,  I  could  n't,  you  know." 

"Then  why  —  but  of  course  I  know  you  are  worn 
out  by  her  long  invalidism  and  tired  of  the  fourteen 
years  in  that  one  house.  Still,  she  has  been  lenient  since 
you  were  twenty-one.  She  has  permitted  you  —  al 
though  of  course  you  had  the  undisputed  right  —  to 
earn  for  yourself  in  teaching  the  singing  classes  in  the 
afternoon  and  evening  school,  and  she  pays  you  some 
thing  beside  —  fairly  well,  does  n't  she  ?  I  think  you 
told  me  you  were  satisfied." 

"  Oh  yes,  in  a  way  —  so  far  as  it  goes.  She  does  n't 
begin  to  pay  me  as  she  would  have  to  pay  another  girl 
in  my  position  —  if  I  have  any  there.  I  have  n't  said 
anything  about  it  to  her,  because  I  wanted  to  work  off 
my  indebtedness  to  her  on  account  of  what  she  spent  on 
me  in  bringing  me  up  —  she  never  let  me  forget  that  in 
those  first  seven  years !  I  want  to  give  more  than  I  've 
had,"  she  said  proudly,  "and  sometime  I  shall  tell  her 
of  it." 

"But  you  have  never  given  her  any  love?" 

"No,  I  couldn't  give  her  that.  —  Do  you  blame 
me?" 


384  Flamsted  Quarries 

"  No ;  you  have  done  your  whole  duty  by  her.  May 
I  suggest  that  when  you  leave  her  you  still  make  your 
home  with  us  here  in  Flamsted?  You  have  no  other 
home,  my  child." 

"No,  I  have  no  other  home,"  she  repeated  me 
chanically. 

"I  know,  at  least,  two  that  are  open  to  you  at  any 
time  you  choose  to  avail  yourself  of  their  hospitality. 
Mrs.  Caukins  would  be  so  glad  to  have  you  both  for 
her  daughters'  sake  and  her  own.  The  Colonel  de 
sires  this  as  much  as  she  does  and  —  '  he  hesitated 
a  moment,  "now  that  Romanzo  has  his  position 
in  the  New  York  office,  and  has  married  and  settled 
there,  there  could  be  no  objection  so  far  as  I  can 
see." 

There  wras  no  response. 

"But  if  you  do  not  care  to  consider  that,  there  is  an 
other.  About  seven  months  ago,  Mrs.  Googe  —  " 

"Mrs.  Googe?" 

She  turned  to  him  a  face  from  which  every  particle 
of  color  had  faded. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Googe.  She  would  have  spoken  to  you 
herself  long  before  this,  but,  you  know,  Aileen,  how 
she  would  feel  in  the  circumstances  —  she  would  not 
think  of  suggesting  your  coming  to  her  from  Mrs. 
Champney.  I  feel  sure  she  is  waiting  for  you  to  take 
the  initiative." 

"Mrs.  Googe?"  she  repeated,  continuing  to  stare 
at  him  —  blankly,  as  if  she  had  heard  but  those  two 
words  of  all  that  he  was  saying. 

"Why,  yes,  Mrs.  Googe.  Is  there  anything  so  strange 
in  that  ?  She  has  always  loved  you,  and  she  said  to  me, 
only  the  other  day,  'I  would  love  to  have  her  young 
companionship  in  my  house' — she  will  never  call  it 


Flamsted  Quarries  385 

home,  you  know,  until  her  son  returns  —  'to  be  as  a 
daughter  to  me'  —  " 

"  Daughter !  —  I  —  want  air  — 

She  swayed  forward  in  speaking.  Father  Honore 
sprang  and  caught  her  or  she  would  have  fallen.  He 
placed  her  firmly  against  the  chair  back  and  opened  the 
window.  The  keen  night  air  charged  with  frost  quickly 
revived  her. 

"You  were  sitting  too  near  the  fire;  I  should  have 
remembered  that  you  had  come  in  from  the  cold,"  he 
said,  delicately  regarding  her  feelings;  "let  me  get  you 
a  glass  of  water,  Aileen." 

She  put  out  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  dissent.  She 
began  to  breathe  freely.  The  room  chilled  rapidly. 
Father  Honore  closed  the  window  and  took  his  stand 
on  the  hearth.  Aileen  raised  her  eyes  to  him.  It  seemed 
as  if  she  lifted  the  swollen  reddened  lids  with  difficulty. 

"Father  Honore,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  tense 
with  suppressed  feeling,  "dear  Father  Honore,  the 
only  father  I  have  ever  known,  don't  you  know  why  I 
cannot  go  to  Mrs.  Googe's  ?  —  why  I  must  not  stay 
too  long  in  Flamsted?" 

And  looking  into  those  eyes,  that  were  incapable  of 
insincerity,  that,  in  the  present  instance,  attempted  to 
veil  nothing,  the  priest  read  all  that  of  which,  six  years 
ago  on  that  never  to  be  forgotten  November  night  in 
New  York,  he  had  had  premonition. 

"  My  daughter  —  is  it  because  of  Champney's  pro 
spective  return  within  a  year  that  you  feel  you  cannot 
remain  longer  with  us?" 

Her  quivering  lips  gave  an  almost  inaudible  assent. 

"Why?"  He  dared  not  spare  her;  he  felt,  more 
over,  that  she  did  not  wish  to  be  spared.  His  eyes  held 
hers. 


386  Flamsted  Quarries 

Bravely  she  answered,  bracing  soul  and  mind  and 
body  to  steadfastness.  There  was  not  a  wavering  of 
an  eyelid,  not  a  suggestion  of  faltering  speech  as  she 
spoke  the  words  that  alone  could  lift  from  her  over 
burdened  heart  the  weight  of  a  seven  years'  silence: 

''Because  I  love  him." 

The  answer  seemed  to  Father  Honore  supreme  in 
its  sacrificial  simplicity.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  head. 
She  bowed  beneath  his  touch. 

"I  have  tried  so  hard,"  she  murmured,  "so  hard  — 
and  I  cannot  help  it.  I  have  despised  myself  for  it  — 
if  only  he  had  n't  been  put  there,  I  think  it  would  have 
helped  —  but  he  is  there,  and  my  thoughts  are  with 
him  there  —  I  see  him  nights  —  in  that  cell  —  I  see 
him  daytimes  breaking  stones  —  I  can't  sleep,  or  eat, 
without  comparing  —  you  know.  Oh,  if  he  had  n't 
been  put  there,  I  could  have  conquered  this  weakness— 

"Aileen,  no!     It  is  no  weakness,  it  is  strength." 

Father  Honore  withdrew  his  hand,  that  had  been  to 
the  broken  woman  a  silent  benediction,  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  long  room.  "  You  would  never  have 
conquered ;  there  wras  —  there  is  no  need  to  conquer. 
Such  love  is  of  God  —  trust  it,  my  child ;  don't  try 
any  longer  to  thrust  it  forth  from  your  heart,  your  life; 
for  if  you  do,  your  life  will  be  but  a  poor  maimed  thing, 
beneficial  neither  to  yourself  nor  to  others.  I  say, 
cherish  this  supreme  love  for  the  man  who  is  expiating 
in  a  prison;  hold  it  close  to  your  soul  as  a  shield  and 
buckler  to  the  spirit  against  the  world;  truly,  you  will 
need  no  other  if  you  go  forth  from  us  into  a  world  of 
strangers  —  but  wrhy,  why  need  you  go?" 

He  spoke  gently,  but  insistently.  He  saw  that  the 
girl  was  hanging  upon  his  every  word  as  if  he  bespoke 
her  eternal  salvation.  And,  in  truth,  the  priest  was 


Flamsted  Quarries  387 

illumining  the  dark  and  hidden  places  of  her  life  and 
giving  her  courage  to  love  on  which,  to  her,  meant 
courage  to  live  on.  —  Such  were  the  demands  of  a  na 
ture,  loyal,  impulsive,  warmly  affectionate,  sincere, 
capable  of  an  all-sacrificing  love  that  could  give  with 
out  return  if  need  be,  but  a  nature  which,  without  love 
developing  in  her  of  itself  just  for  the  sake  of  love, 
would  shrivel,  become  embittered,  and  like  withered 
fruit  on  a  tree  drop  useless  to  the  ground  to  be  trodden 
under  the  careless  foot  of  man. 

In  the  darkening  room  the  firelight  leaped  and 
showed  to  Father  Honore  the  woman's  face  trans 
figured  under  the  powerful  influence  of  his  words. 
She  smiled  up  at  him  —  a  smile  so  brave  in  its  pathos, 
so  winning  in  its  true  womanliness,  that  Father  Honore 
felt  the  tears  bite  his  eyeballs. 

"Perhaps  I  don't  need  to  go  then." 

"This  rejoices  me,  Aileen  —  it  will  rejoice  us  all," 
he  answered  heartily  to  cover  his  emotion. 

"But  it  won't  be  easy  to  stay  where  I  am." 

"  I  know  —  I  know ;  you  speak  as  one  who  has  suf 
fered  ;  but  has  not  Champney  suffered  too  ?  Think  of 
his  home-coming!" 

"  Yes,  he  has  suffered  —  in  a  way  —  but  not  my 
way." 

Father  Honore  had  a  vision  at  that  moment  of 
Champney  Googe's  face  when  he  said, "But  you  loved 
her  with  your  whole  manhood."  He  made  no  reply, 
but  waited  for  Aileen  to  say  more  if  she  should  so 
choose. 

"I  believed  he  loved  me  —  and  so  I  told  him  my 
love  —  I  shall  never,  never  get  over  that!"  she  ex 
claimed  passionately.  "  But  I  know  now  —  I  knew 
before  he  went  away  the  last  time,  that  I  was  mistaken ; 


388  Flamsted  Quarries 

no  man  could  say  what  he  did  and  know  even  the  first 
letter  of  love." 

Her  indignation  was  rising,  and  Father  Honore  wel 
comed  it;  it  was  a  natural  trait  with  her,  and  its  sup 
pression  gave  him  more  cause  for  anxiety  than  its 
expression. 

"He  did  n't  love  me  —  not  really  —  " 

"Are  you  sure  of  this,  Aileen?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure." 

"You  have  good  reason  to  know  that  you  are  telling 
a  fact  in  asserting  this?" 

"Yes,  altogether  too  good  a  reason."  There  was  a 
return  of  bitterness  in  her  answer. 

Father  Honore  was  baffled.  Aileen  spoke  without 
further  questioning.  Evidently  she  was  desirous  of 
making  her  position  as  well  as  Champney's  plain  to 
him  and  to  herself.  Her  voice  grew  more  gentle  as  she 
continued :  — 

"  Father  Honore,  I  've  loved  him  so  long  —  and  so 
truly,  without  hope,  you  know  —  never  any  hope,  and 
hating  myself  for  loving  where  I  was  not  loved  —  that 
I  think  I  do  know  what  love  is  — 

Father  Honore  smiled  to  himself  in  the  half -dark; 
this  voice  was  still  young,  and  its  love-wisdom  was 
young-wise,  also.  There  was  hope,  he  told  himself, 
that  all  would  come  right  in  the  end  —  work  together 
for  good. 

"  But  Mr.  Googe  never  loved  me  as  I  loved  him  — 
and  I  could  n't  accept  less." 

The  priest  caught  but  the  lesser  part  of  her  meaning. 
Even  his  wisdom  and  years  failed  to  throw  light  on  the 
devious  path  of  Aileen's  thoughts  at  this  moment.  Of 
the  truth  contained  in  her  expression,  he  had  no  inkling. 

"Aileen,  I  don't  know  that  I  can  make  it  plain  to 


Flamsted  Quarries  389 

you,  but  —  a  man's  love  is  so  different  from  a  woman's 
that,  sometimes,  I  think  such  a  statement  as  you  have 
just  made  is  so  full  of  flaws  that  it  amounts  to  sophistry; 
but  there  is  no  need  to  discuss  that.  —  Let  me  ask  you  if 
you  can  endure  to  stay  on  with  Mrs.  Champney  for  a 
few  months  longer?  I  have  a  very  special  reason  for 
asking  this.  Sometime  I  will  tell  you." 

"Oh,  yes;"  she  spoke  wearily,  indifferently;  "I 
may  as  well  stay  there  as  anywrhere  now."  Then  with 
more  interest  and  animation,  "May  I  tell  you  some 
thing  I  have  kept  to  myself  all  these  years  ?  I  want  to 
get  rid  of  it." 

"  Surely  —  the  more  the  better  when  the  heart  is 
burdened." 

He  took  his  seat  again,  and  with  pitying  love  and 
ever  increasing  interest  and  amazement  listened  to  her 
recital  of  the  part  she  played  on  that  October  night 
in  the  quarry  woods  —  of  her  hate  that  turned  to  love 
again  when  she  found  the  man  she  had  both  loved  and 
hated  in  the  extreme  of  need,  of  the  '  murder '  —  so  she 
termed  it  in  her  contrition  —  of  Rag,  of  her  swearing 
Luigi  to  silence.  She  told  of  herself  —  but  of  Champ 
ney  Googe's  unmanly  temptation  of  her  honor,  of  his 
mad  passion  for  her,  she  said  never  a  word;  her  two 
pronounced  traits  of  chastity  and  loyalty  forbade  it.  as 
well  as  the  desire  of  a  loving  woman  to  shield  him  she 
loved  in  spite  of  herself. 

Of   the  little  handkerchief  that  played  its  part  in 
that    night's    threatened   tragedy   she   said   nothing  — 
neither   did   Father  Honore;   evidently,  she   had  for 
gotten  it. 

Suddenly  she  clasped  her  hands  hard  over  her  heart. 

"That  dear  loving  little  dog's  death  has  lain  here 
like  a  stone  all  these  years,"  she  said,  and  rose  to  go. 


390  Flamsted  Quarries 

"You  are  absolved,  Aileen,"  he  said  smiling.  "It 
was,  like  many  others,  a  little  devoted  life  sacrificed  to  a 
great  love." 

He  reached  to  press  the  button  that  turned  on  the 
electric  lights.  Their  soft  brilliance  caught  in  sparkling 
gleams  on  the  points  of  a  small  piece  of  almost  pure 
white  granite  among  the  specimens  on  the  shelf  above 
them.  Father  Honore"  rose  and  took  it  from  its  place. 

"This  is  for  you,  Aileen,"  he  said  handing  it  to  her. 

"For  me?"  She  looked  at  him  in  wonder,  not  un 
derstanding  what  he  meant  by  this  insignificant  gift  at 
such  a  time. 

He  smiled  at  her  look  of  amazement. 

"No  wonder  you  look  puzzled.  You  must  be  think 
ing  you  have  '  asked  me  for  bread  and  I  am  giving  you 
a  stone.'  But  this  is  for  remembrance." 

He  hesitated  a  moment. 

"You  said  once  this  afternoon,  that  for  years  it 
had  been  a  hell  on  earth  for  you  —  a  strong  expres 
sion  to  fall  from  a  young  woman's  lips;  and  I  said 
nothing.  Sometime,  perhaps,  you  will  see  things 
differently.  But  if  I  said  nothing,  it  was  only  be 
cause  I  thought  the  more ;  for  just  as  you  spoke  those 
words,  my  eye  caught  the  glitter  of  this  piece  of  granite 
in  the  firelight,  and  I  said  to  myself  — '  that  is  like  what 
Aileen's  life  will  be,  and  through  her  life  what  her  char 
acter  will  prove  to  be.'  This  stone  has  been  crushed, 
subjected  to  unimaginable  heat,  upheaved,  submerged, 
ground  again  to  powder,  remelted,  overwhelmed,  made 
adamant,  rent,  upheaved  again,  —  and  now,  after  aeons, 
it  lies  here  so  near  the  blue  above  our  Flamsted 
Hills,  worthy  to  be  used  and  put  to  all  noble  uses; 
fittest  in  all  the  world  for  foundation  stone  —  for  it  is 
the  foundation  rock  of  our  earth  crust  —  for  all  lasting 


Flamsted  Quarries  391 

memorials  of  great  deed  and  noble  thought;  for  all 
temples  and  holies  of  holies.    Take  it,  Aileen,  and  - 
remember !" 

"I  will,  oh,  I  will;  and  I'll  try  to  fit  myself,  too; 
I  '11  try,  dear,  dear  Father  Honore,"  she  said  humbly, 
gratefully. 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  she  placed  hers  in  it.  He 
opened  the  door. 

"  Good  night,  Aileen,  and  God  bless  you." 

"Good  night,  Father  Honore." 

She  went  out  into  the  clear  winter  starlight.  The 
piece  of  granite,  she  held  tightly  clasped  in  her  hand. 

The  priest,  after  closing  the  door,  went  to  the  pine 
table  and  opening  a  drawer  took  out  a  letter.  It  bore  a 
recent  date.  It  was  from  the  chaplain  of  the  prison  and 
informed  him  there  was  a  strong  prospect  of  release 
for  Champney  Googe  at  least  three  months  before  the 
end  of  his  term.  Father  Honore  smiled  to  himself. 
He  refolded  it  and  laid  it  in  the  drawer. 


Ill 

EARLY  in  the  following  March,  on  the  arrival  of 
the  3  P.  M.  train  from  Hallsport,  there  was  the 
usual  crowd  at  The  Corners'  station  to  meet  it. 
They  watched  the  passengers  as  they  left  the  train  and 
commented  freely  on  one  and  another  known  to  them. 

"I  '11  bet  that 's  the  new  boss  at  the  upper  quarries," 
said  one,  pointing  to  a  short  thickset  man  making  his 
way  up  the  platform. 

"Yes,  that 's  him;  and  they  're  taking  on  a  gang  of 
new  men  with  him;  they're  in  the  last  car  —  there 
they  come !  There  's  going  to  be  a  regular  spring 
freshet  of  'em  coming  along  now  —  the  business  is 
booming." 

They  scanned  the  men  closely  as  they  passed,  be 
tween  twenty  and  thirty  of  them  of  various  nationali 
ties.  They  were  gesticulating  wildly,  vociferating 
loudly,  shouldering  bundle,  knapsack  or  tool-kit.  Be 
hind  them  came  a  few  stone-cutters,  mostly  Scotch  and 
Irish.  The  last  to  leave  the  train  was  evidently  an 
American. 

The  crowd  on  the  platform  surged  away  to  the  elec 
tric  car  to  watch  further  proceedings  of  the  newly 
arrived  "gang."  The  arrival  of  the  immigrant  work 
men  always  afforded  fun  for  the  natives.  The  men 
shivered  and  hunched  their  shoulders;  the  raw  March 
wind  was  searching.  The  gesticulating  and  vocifer 
ating  increased.  To  any  one  unacquainted  with  for 
eign  ways,  a  complete  rupture  of  international  peace 


Flamsted  Quarries  393 

and  relations  seemed  imminent.  They  tumbled  over 
one  another  into  the  cars  and  filled  them  to  overflowing, 
even  to  the  platform  where  they  clung  to  the  guards. 

The  man  who  had  been  the  last  to  leave  the  train 
stood  on  the  emptied  platform  and  looked  about  him. 
He  carried  a  small  bundle.  He  noted  the  sign  on  the 
electric  cars,  "To  Quarry  End  Park".  A  puzzled  look 
came  into  his  face.  He  turned  to  the  baggage-master 
who  was  wrestling  with  the  immigrants'  baggage :  — 
iron-bound  chests,  tin  boxes  and  trunks,  sacks  of  heavy 
coarse  linen  filled  with  bedding. 

"Does  this  car  go  to  the  sheds?" 

The  station  master  looked  up.  "It  goes  past  there, 
but  this  is  the  regular  half -hour  express  for  the  quarries 
and  the  Park.  You  a  stranger  in  these  parts?" 

"This  is  all  strange  to  me,"  the  man  answered. 

"Any  baggage?" 

"No." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  rapid  clanging  of  the 
gong;  the  motorman  let  fly  the  whirling  rod;  the 
over  full  cars  started  with  a  jerk  —  there  was  a  howl, 
a  shout,  followed  by  a  struggle  to  keep  the  equilib 
rium;  an  undersized  Canuck  was  seen  to  be  running 
madly  alongside  with  one  hand  on  the  guard  and  en 
deavoring  to  get  a  foothold ;  he  was  hauled  up  uncere 
moniously  by  a  dozen  hands.  The  crowd  watching 
them,  cheered  and  jeered: 

"  Goin'  it  some,  Antoine  !     Don't  get  left '" 

"Keep  on  your  pins,  you  Dagos!" 

"  Steady,  Polacks  —  there  's  the  strap  !" 

"Gee  up,  Johnny!"    This  to  the  motorman. 

"  Gosh,  it 's  like  a  soda  bottle  fizzin'  to  hear  them 
Rooshians  talkin'." 

"Hooray  for  you!" 


394  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  cars  were  off  swiftly  now;  the  men  on  the  plat 
forms  waved  their  hats,  their  white  teeth  flashing,  their 
gold  earrings  twinkling,  and  echoed  the  American 
cheer : — 

"Horray!" 

The  station  master  turned  away  laughing. 

"They  look  like  a  tough  crowd,  but  they  're  O.  K. 
in  the  end,"  he  said  to  the  man  beside  him  who  was 
looking  after  the  vanishing  car  and  its  trailer.  "  There  's 
yours  coming  down  the  switch.  That  '11  take  you  up 
to  Flamsted  and  the  sheds."  He  pushed  the  loaded 
truck  up  the  platform. 

The  stranger  entered  the  car  and  took  a  seat  at  the 
rear;  there  were  no  other  passengers.  He  told  the 
conductor  to  leave  him  as  near  as  possible  to  the  sheds. 

"Guess  you  .don't  know  these  parts?"  The  con 
ductor  put  the  question. 

"This  here  is  new  to  me,"  the  man  answered;  he 
seemed  nothing  loath  to  enter  into  conversation.  "  When 
was  this  road  built?" 

"  'Bout  five  years  ago.  You  '11  see  what  a  roadway 
they  've  made  clear  along  the  north  shore  of  the  lake ; 
it 's  bein'  built  up  with  houses  just  as  fast  as  it 's  taken 
up." 

He  rang  the  starting  bell.  The  car  gathered  head 
way  and  sped  noisily  along  the  frozen  roadbed.  In  a 
few  minutes  it  stopped  at  the  Flamsted  station;  then 
it  followed  the  shore  of  the  lake  for  two  miles  until  it 
reached  the  sheds.  It  stopped  here  and  the  man  got 
out. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  the  manager's  office  is?" 
he  asked  a  workman  who  was  passing. 

"Over  there."  He  pointed  with  his  thumb  back 
wards  across  some  railroad  tracks  and  through  a  stone- 


Flamsted  Quarries  395 

yard  to  a  small  two-storey  office  building  at  the  end  of 
three  huge  sheds. 

The  man-made  his  way  across  to  them.  Once  he 
stopped  to  look  at  the  leaden  waters  of  the  lake,  rimmed 
with  ice;  and  up  at  the  leaden  sky  that  seemed  to  be 
shutting  down  close  upon  them  like  a  lid;  and  around 
at  the  gray  waste  of  frozen  ground,  the  meadows 
covered  lightly  with  snow  and  pools  of  surface  ice  that 
here  and  there  showed  the  long  bleached  grass  prick 
ing  through  in  grayish-yellow  tufts.  Beyond  the 
meadows  he  saw  a  rude  stone  chapel,  and  near  by  the 
foundations,  capped  with  wood,  of  a  large  church.  He 
shivered  once;  he  had  no  overcoat.  Then  he  went 
on  to  the  manager's  office.  He  rang  and  opened  the 
door. 

"Can  I  see  the  manager?" 

"He's  out  now;  gone  over  to  the  engine-house  to 
see  about  the  new  smoke  stack ;  he  '11  be  back  in  a  few 
minutes.  Guess  you  '11  find  a  stool  in  the  other  room." 

The  man  entered  the  room,  but  remained  standing, 
listening  with  increasing  interest  to  the  technical  talk 
of  the  other  twro  men  who  were  half  lying  on  the  table 
as  they  bent  over  some  large  plans  —  an  architect's 
blue  prints.  Finally  the  man  drew  near. 

"May  I  look  too?"  he  asked. 

"Sure.  These  are  the  working  plans  for  the  new 
Episcopal  cathedral  at  A.;"  he  named  a  well  known 
city;  "you  've  heard  of  it,  I  s'pose?" 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Here  for  a  job?" 

"Yes.    Is  all  this  work  to  be  done  by  the  company?" 

"Every  stone.  We  got  the  contract  eleven  months 
ago.  We  're  at  work  on  these  courses  now."  He 
turned  the  plates  that  the  man  might  see. 


396  Flamsted  Quarries 

He  bent  over  to  examine  them,  noting  the  wonder 
ful  detail  of  arch  and  architrave,  of  keystone,  cornice 
and  foundation  course.  Each  stone,  varying  in  size 
and  shape,  was  drawn  with  utmost  accuracy,  di 
mensions  given,  numbered  with  its  own  number  for 
the  place  of  its  setting  into  the  perfect  whole.  The 
stability  of  the  whole  giant  structure  was  dependent  upon 
the  perfection  and  right  placing  of  each  individual 
stone  from  lowest  foundation  to  the  keystones  of  the 
vaulting  arches  of  the  nave;  the  harmony  of  design 
dependent  on  rightly  maintained  proportions  of  each 
granite  block,  large  or  small  —  and  all  this  marvellous 
structure  was  the  product  of  the  rude  granite  veins  in  The 
Gore  !  That  adamantine  mixture  of  gneiss  and  quartz, 
prepared  in  nature's  laboratory  throughout  millions  of 
years,  was  now  furnishing  the  rock  which,  beneath 
human  manipulation,  was  flowering  into  the  great 
cathedral !  And  that  perfect  whole  was  ideaed  first  in 
the  brain  of  man,  and  a  sketch  of  it  transferred  by 
the  sun  itself  to  the  blue  paper  which  lay  on  the 
table ! 

What  a  combination  and  transmutation  of  those 
forceful  powers  that  originate  in  the  Unnamable ! 

The  manager  entered,  passed  into  the  next  room 
and,  sitting  down  at  his  desk,  began  to  make  notes  on 
a  pad.  At  a  sign  from  the  two  men,  the  stranger  fol 
lowed  him,  cap  in  hand. 

The    manager    spoke    without    looking    at    him :  — 
"Well?" 

"I  'd  like  a  job  in  the  sheds." 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice,  the  manager  glanced  up 
quickly,  keenly.  He  saw  before  him  a  man  evidently 
prematurely  gray.  The  broad  shoulders  bowed  slightly 
as  if  from  long-continued  work  involving  much  stoop- 


Flamsted   Quarries  397 

ing.  He  looked  at  the  hands;  they  were  rough,  cal 
loused  with  toil,  the  knuckles  spread,  the  nails  broken 
and  worn.  Then  he  looked  again  into  the  face;  that 
puzzled  him.  It  was  smooth-shaven,  square  in  outline 
and  rather  thin,  but  the  color  was  good ;  the  eyes  — 
what  eyes ! 

The  manager  found  himself  wondering  if  there  were 
a  pair  to  match  them  in  the  wide  world.  They  were 
slightly  sunken,  large,  blue,  of  a  depth  and  beauty  and 
clarity  rarely  seen  in  that  color.  Within  them,  as  if 
at  home,  dwelt  an  expression  of  inner  quiet,  and  sad 
ness  combined  with  strength  and  firmness.  It  was  not 
easy  to  look  long  into  them  without  wanting  to  grasp 
the  possessor's  hand  in  fellowship.  They  smiled,  too, 
as  the  manager  continued  to  stare.  That  broke  the 
spell;  they  were  undeniably  human.  The  manager 
smiled  in  response. 

"Learned  your  trade?" 

"Yes." 

"How  long  have  you  been  working  at  it?" 

"Between  six  and  seven  years." 

"Any  tools  with  you?" 

"No"." 

"Union  man?" 

"No." 

"Hm-m." 

The  manager  chewed  the  handle  of  his  pen,  and 
thought  something  out  with  himself;  his  eyes  were  on 
the  pad  before  him. 

"We  've  got  to  take  on  a  lot  of  new  men  for  the  next 
two  years  —  as  many  as  we  can  of  skilled  workmen. 
The  break  will  have  to  be  made  sometime.  Anyhow, 
if  you  '11  risk  it  they  've  got  a  job  for  you  in  Shed  Num 
ber  Two  —  cutting  and  squaring  for  a  while  —  forty 


398  Flamsted  Quarries 

cents  an  hour  —  eight  hour  day.    I  '11  telephone  to  the 
boss  if  you  want  it." 

"I  do." 

He  took  up  the  desk-telephone  and  gave  his  message. 

"It 's  all  right."  He  drew  out  a  ledger  from  beneath 
the  desk.  "What 's  your  letter?" 

"Letter?"    The  man  looked  startled  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,  initial  of  your  last  name." 

"G." 

The  manager  found  the  letter,  thrust  in  his  finger, 
opened  the  page  indicated  and  shoved  the  book  over 
the  desk  towards  the  applicant.  He  handed  him  his 
pen. 

"  Write  your  name,  your  age,  and  what  you  're  native 
of."  He  indicated  the  columns. 

The  man  took  the  pen.  He  seemed  at  first  slightly 
awkward  in  handling  it.  The  entry  he  made  was  as 
follows : 

"Louis  C.  Googe  —  thirty-four  —  United  States." 

The  manager  glanced  at  it.  "That's  a  common 
enough  name  in  Maine  and  these  parts,"  he  said. 
Then  he  pointed  through  the  window.  "That 's  the 
shed  over  there  —  the  middle  one.  The  boss  '11  give 
you  some  tools  till  you  get  yours." 

"Thank  you."  The  man  put  on  his  cap  and  went 
out. 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!"  was  all  the  manager  said 
as  he  looked  after  the  applicant.  Then  he  rose,  went 
to  the  office  door  and  watched  the  man  making  his  way 
through  the  stone-yards  towards  the  sheds.  "Well, 
boys,"  he  said  further,  turning  to  the  two  men  bending 
over  the  plans,  "that  suit  ain't  exactly  a  misfit,  but  it 
has  n't  seen  the  light  of  day  for  a  good  many  years  — 
and  it 's  the  same  with  the  man.  What  in  thunder  is 


Flamsted   Quarries  399 

he  doing  in  the  sheds !  Did  he  say  anything  specially 
to  you  before  I  came  in?" 

"No;  only  he  seemed  mighty  interested  in  the  plans, 
examined  the  detail  of  some  of  them  —  as  if  he  knew." 

"We  '11  keep  our  eyes  on  him."  The  manager  went 
back  to  his  desk. 


IV 

PERHAPS  the  dreariest  environment  imaginable 
is  a  stone-cutters'  shed  on  a  bleak  day  in  the 
first  week  in  March.  The  large  ones  stretching 
along  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Mesantic  are  no  excep 
tion  to  this  statement.  A  high  wind  from  the  northeast 
was  driving  before  it  particles  of  ice,  and  now  and  then 
a  snow  flurry.  It  penetrated  every  crack  and  crevice 
of  the  huge  buildings,  the  second  and  largest  of  which 
covered  a  ground  space  of  more  than  an  acre.  Every 
gust  made  itself  both  felt  and  heard  among  the 
rafters.  Near  the  great  doors  the  granite  dust  whirled 
in  eddies. 

At  this  hour  in  the  afternoon  Shed  Number  Two  was 
a  study  in  black  and  gray  and  white.  Gray  dust  sev 
eral  inches  thick  spread  underfoot ;  all  about  were  gray 
walls,  gray  and  white  granite  piles,  gray  columns, 
arches,  uncut  blocks,  heaps  of  granite  waste,  gray  work 
men  in  gray  blouses  and  canvas  aprons  covered  with 
gray  dust.  In  one  corner  towered  the  huge  gray-black 
McDonald  machine  in  mighty  strength,  its  multiple 
revolving  arms  furnished  with  gigantic  iron  fists  which 
manipulate  the  unyielding  granite  with  Herculean 
automatonism  —  an  invention  of  the  film-like  brain  of 
man  to  conquer  in  a  few  minutes  the  work  of  nature's 
aeons !  Gray-black  overhead  stretched  the  running 
rails  for  the  monster  electric  travelling  crane;  some 
men  crawling  out  on  them  looked  like  monkeys.  Here 
and  there  might  be  seen  the  small  insignificant  "Lewis 


Flamsted  Quarries  401 

Key"  —  a  thing  that  may  be  held  on  a  woman's  palm 
—  sustaining  a  granite  weight  of  many  tons. 

There  were  three  hundred  men  at  work  in  this  shed, 
and  the  ringing  chip-chip-chipping  monotone  from 
the  hundreds  of  hammers  and  chisels,  filled  the  great 
space  with  industry's  wordless  song  that  has  its  perfect 
harmony  for  him  \vho  listens  with  open  ears  and  ex 
pansive  mind. 

Jim  McCann  was  at  work  near  the  shed  doors  which 
had  been  opened  several  times  since  one  o'clock  to  ad 
mit  the  flat  cars  with  the  granite.  He  was  alternately 
blowing  on  his  benumbed  fingers  and  cursing  the  doors 
and  the  draught  that  was  chilling  him  to  the  marrow. 
The  granite  dust  was  swirling  about  his  legs  and  rising 
into  his  nostrils.  It  lacked  a  half-hour  to  four. 

Two  cars  rolled  in  silently. 

"Shut  thim  damned  doors,  man!"  he  shouted 
across  to  the  door-tender;  "God  kape  us  but  we'  it 's 
our  last  death  we  '11  be  ketchin'  before  we  can  clane  out 
our  lungs  o'  the  dust  we  've  swallowed  the  day.  It 's 
after  bein'  wan  damned  slitherin'  whorl  of  grit  in  the 
nose  of  me  since  eight  the  morn." 

He  struck  hard  on  his  chisel  and  a  spark  flew.  A 
workman,  an  Italian,  laughed. 

"That's  arll-rright,  Jim  —  fire  up!" 

"You  kape  shet,"  growled  McCann.  He  was  un 
friendly  as  a  rule  to  the  Dagos.  "It 's  in  me  blood," 
was  his  only  excuse. 

"An'  if  it 's  a  firin'  ye  be  after,"  he  continued,  "ye  '11 
get  it  shurre  if  ye  lave  off  workin'  to  warm  up  yer  tongue 
wid  such  sass.  —  Shut  thim  doors!"  he  shouted 
again;  but  a  gust  of  wind  failed  to  carry  his  voice  in 
the  desired  direction. 

In  the  swirling  roar  and  the  small  dust-spout  that 


402  Flamsted   Quarries 

followed  in  its  wake,  Jim  and  the  workmen  in  his  cold 
section  were  aware  of  a  man  who  had  been  half-blown 
in  with  the  whirling  dust.  He  took  shelter  for  a  mo 
ment  by  the  inner  wall.  The  foreman  saw  him  and 
recognized  him  for  the  man  who,  the  manager  had  just 
telephoned,  was  coming  over  from  the  office.  He  came 
forward  to  meet  him. 

"You're  the  man  wrho  has  just  taken  on  a  job  in 
Shed  Number  Two?" 

"Yes." 

The  foreman  signed  to  one  of  the  men  and  told  him 
to  bring  an  extra  set  of  tools. 

"Here  's  your  section,"  he  said  indicating  McCann's; 
"  you  can  begin  on  this  block  —  just  squaring  it  for 
to-night." 

The  man  took  his  tools  with  a  "Thank  you,"  and 
went  to  work.  The  others  wratched  him  furtively,  as 
Jim  told  Maggie  afterwards  "from  the  tail  of  me  eye." 

He  knew  his  work.  They  soon  saw  that.  Every 
stroke  told.  The  doors  were  shut  at  last  and  the  elec 
tric  lights  turned  on.  Up  to  the  stroke  of  four  the  men 
worked  like  automatons  —  chip-chip-chipping.  Now 
and  then  there  was  some  chaffing,  good-natured  if 
rough. 

The  little  Canuck,  who  by  dint  of  running  had  caught 
the  car,  was  working  nearby.  McCann  called  out  to 
him: 

"  I  say,  Antwine,  where  you  'd  be  after  gettin'  that 
cap  with  the  monkey  ears?" 

"Bah  gosh,  Ah  have  get  dis  a  Mo'real  —  at  good 
marche  —  sheep."  He  stroked  the  small  skin  earlaps 
caressingly  with  one  hand,  then  spat  upon  his  palm 
and  fell  to  work  again. 

"Montreal  is  it?    When  did  you  go?" 


Flamsted  Quarries  403 

"Ah  was  went  tree  day  —  le  Pere  Honore  tol'  mah 
Ah  better  was  go  to  mon  maitre;  he  was  dead  las' 
week." 

"Wot  yer  givin'  us,  Ant  wine?  Three  days  to  see 
yer  dead  mater  an'  lavin'  yer  stiddy  job  for  the  likes  of 
him,  an'  good  luck  yer  come  back  this  afternoon  or 
the  new  man  'ud  'a'  had  it." 

"  Ah,  non  —  ah,  non  !  De  boss  haf  tol'  mah,  Ah  was 
keep  mah  shob.  Ah,  non  —  ah,  non.  Ah  was  went 
pour  1'amour  de  Pere  Honore." 

"  Damn  yer  lingo  —  shpake  English,  I  tell  you." 

Antoine  grinned  and  shook  his  head. 

"Wot  yer  givin'  us  about  his  Riverince,  eh?" 

"Le  Pere  Honore,  hein?  Ah-h-h-rr,  le  bon  Pere 
Honore !  Attendez  —  he  tol'  mah  Ah  was  best  non 
raconter  —  mais,  Ah  raconte  you,  Shim  —  " 

"Go  ahead,  Johnny  Frog;  let 's  hear." 

"Ah  was  been  lee'l  garjon  —  lee'l  b^be,  no  pere; 
ma  mere  was  been  —  how  you  say  ?  —  gypsee  a  cheval, 
hein?"  he  appealed  to  McCann. 

"You  mane  a  gypsy  that  rides  round  the  counthry?" 

Antoine  nodded  emphatically.  "Yah  —  oui,  gypsee 
a  cheval,  an'  bars  — " 

"Bears?" 

"  Mais  oui,  bruins  —  bars ;  pour  les  faire  dancer  — 

"  You  mane  your  mother  was  a  gypsy  that  went  round 
the  counthry  showin'  off  dancin'  bears?" 

"  Yah-oui.  Ah  mane  so.  She  haf  been  seek  —  ma- 
lade  —  how  you  say,  petite  verole  —  so  like  de  Pere 
Honore?"  He  made  with  his  forefinger  dents  in  his 
face  and  forehead. 

"An'  is  it  the  shmall  pox  yer  mane?" 

"Yah-oui,  shmall  pookes.  She  was  haf  it,  an'  tout 
le  monde  —  how  you  say  ?  —  efferybodyee  was  haf 


404  Flamsted  Quarries 

fear.  She  was  haf  nottin'  to  eat  —  nottin'  to  drrink ; 
le  Pere  Honore  was  fin'  her  in  de  bois  —  foret,  an'  was 
been  tak'  ma  pauvre  mere  in  hees  ahrms,  an'  he  place 
her  in  de  sugair-house,  an'  il  1'a  soignee  —  how  you 
say?"  He  appealed  to  the  Italian  whose  interest  was 
on  the  increase. 

"Nurrsed?" 

"  Yah  —  oui,  nurrsed  her,  an'  moi  aussi  —  lee'l 
bebe  — " 

"  D'  yer  mane  his  Riverince  nursed  you  and  yer 
mother  through  the  shmall  pox?"  demanded  McCann. 
Several  of  the  workmen  stopped  short  with  hammers 
uplifted  to  hear  Antoine's  answer. 

"Mais  oui,  il  1'a  soignee  jusqu'a  ce  qu'elle  was  been 
dead ;  he  1'a  enterree  —  place  in  de  terre  —  airth,  an' 
moi  he  haf  place  chez  un  farmyer  a  Mo'real.  An'  le 
Pere  Honore  was  tak'  la  petite  verole  —  shmall  pookes 
in  de  sugair-house,  an'  de  farmyer  was  gif  him  to  eat 
an'  to  drrink  par  la  porte  —  de  door ;  de  farmyer  haf 
non  passe  par  de  door.  Le  Pere  Honore  m'a  sauve  — 
haf  safe,  hein?  An'  Ah  was  been  work  ten,  twenty, 
dirty  year,  Ah  tink.  Ah  gagne  —  gain,  hein  ?  —  two 
hundert  pieces.  Ah  been  come  to  de  quairries,  pour 
1'amour  de  bon  Pere  Honore  qui  m'a  safe,  hein  ?  Ah  be 
tres  content;  Ah  gagne,  gain  two,  tree  pieces - 
dollaires  —  par  jour." 

He  nodded  at  one  and  all,  his  gold  half-moon  ear 
rings  twinkling  in  his  evident  satisfaction  with  himself 
and  "le  bon  Pere  Honore." 

The  men  were  silent.  Jim  McCann's  eyes  were 
blurred  with  tears.  The  thought  of  his  own  six-months 
boy  presented  itself  in  contrast  to  the  small  waif  in  the 
Canada  woods  and  the  dying  gypsy  mother,  nursed  by 
the  priest  who  had  christened  his  own  little  Billy. 


Flamsted  Quarries  405 

"It 's  a  bad  night  for  the  lecture,"  said  a  Scotchman, 
and  broke  therewith  the  emotional  spell  that  was  hold 
ing  the  men  who  had  made  out  the  principal  points  of 
Antoine's  story. 

"  Yes,  but  Father  Honore  says  it 's  all  about  the 
cathedrals,  an'  not  many  will  want  to  miss  it,"  said  an 
other.  "They  say  there  's  a  crowd  coming  down  from 
the  quarries  to-night  to  hear  it." 

"Faith,  an'  it 's  Mr.  Van  Ostend  will  be  after  havin' 
to  put  on  an  a  trailer  to  his  new  hall,"  said  McCann; 
"the  b'ys  know  a  good  thing  whin  they  see  it,  an'  we 
was  like  to  smother,  the  whole  kit  of  us,  whin  they  had 
the  last  pitchers  of  them  mountins  in  Alasky  on  the 
sheet.  It 's  the  stairioptican  that  takes  best  wid  the 
b'ys." 

The  four  o'clock  whistle  began  to  sound.  Three 
hundred  chisels  and  hammers  were  dropped  on  the 
instant.  The  men  hurried  to  the  doors  that  were  opened 
their  full  width  to  give  egress  to  the  hastening  throngs. 
They  streamed  out;  there  was  laughing  and  chaffing; 
now  and  then,  among  the  younger  ones,  some  good- 
natured  fisticuffs  were  exchanged.  Many  sought  the 
electrics  to  The  Gore;  others  took  the  car  to  The 
Corners.  From  the  three  sheds,  the  power-house,  the 
engine-house,  the  office,  the  dark  files  streamed  forth 
from  their  toil.  Within  fifteen  minutes  the  lights  were 
turned  out,  the  watchman  was  making  his  first  round. 
Instead  of  the  sounds  of  a  vast  industry,  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  sz-szz-szzz  of  the  vanishing  trams,  the 
sputter  of  an  arc-light,  the  barking  of  a  dog.  The 
gray  twilight  of  a  bleak  March  day  shut  down  rapidly 
over  frozen  field  and  ice-rimmed  lake. 


V 

CHAMPNEY  GOOGE  left  the  shed  with  the 
rest;  no  one  spoke  to  him,  although  many  a 
curious  look  was  turned  his  way  when  he  had 
passed,  and  he  spoke  to  no  one.  He  waited  for  a  car 
to  Flamsted.  There  he  got  out.  He  found  a  restaurant 
near  The  Greenbush  and  ordered  something  to  eat. 
Afterwards  he  went  about  the  town,  changed  almost 
beyond  recognition.  He  saw  no  face  he  knew.  There 
were  foreigners  everywhere  —  men  who  were  to  be  the 
fathers  of  the  future  American  race.  A  fairly  large 
opera  house  attracted  his  attention;  it  was  evidently 
new.  He  looked  for  the  year —  1901.  A  little  farther 
on  he  found  the  hall,  built,  so  he  had  gathered  from 
the  few  words  among  the  men  in  the  sheds,  by  Mr. 
Van  Ostend.  The  name  was  on  the  lintel:  "Flamsted 
Quarries  Hall."  Every  few  minutes  an  electric  tram 
went  whizzing  through  Main  Street  towards  The  Bow. 
Crowds  of  young  people  were  on  the  street. 

He  looked  upon  all  he  saw  almost  indifferently,  feel 
ing  little,  caring  little.  It  was  as  if  a  mental  and  spirit 
ual  numbness  had  possession  of  every  faculty  except 
the  manual ;  he  felt  at  home  only  while  he  was  working 
for  that  short  half-hour  in  the  shed.  He  was  not  at 
ease  here  among  this  merry  careless  crowd.  He  stopped 
to  look  in  at  the  windows  of  a  large  fine  shop  for  fruits 
and  groceries;  he  glanced  up  at  the  sign: — "Poggi 
and  Company." 


Flamsted  Quarries  407 

"  Poggi  —  Poggi "  he  said  to  himself ;  he  was  think 
ing  it  out.  "Luigi  Poggi  —  Luigi  —  Ah!"  It  was  a 
long-drawn  breath.  He  had  found  his  clew. 

He  heard  again  that  cry:  "Champney,  —  O  Champ- 
ney !  what  has  he  done  to  you  !"  The  night  came  back 
to  him  in  all  its  detail.  It  sickened  him. 

He  was  about  to  turn  from  the  window  and  seek  the 
quiet  of  The  Bow  until  the  hall  should  be  open  —  at 
"sharp  seven"  he  heard  the  men  say  —  when  a  woman 
passed  him  and  entered  the  shop.  She  took  a  seat  at 
the  counter  just  inside  the  show-window.  He  stood 
gazing  at  her,  unable  to  move  his  eyes  from  the  form, 
the  face.  It  was  she  —  Aileen ! 

The  sickening  feeling  increased  for  a  moment,  then 
it  gave  place  to  strange  electric  currents  that  passed 
and  repassed  through  every  nerve.  It  was  a  sensation 
as  if  his  whole  body  —  flesh,  muscles,  nerves,  arteries, 
veins,  every  lobe  of  his  brain,  every  cell  within  each  lobe, 
had  been,  as  the  saying  is  of  an  arm  or  leg,  "asleep" 
and  was  now  "coming  to."  The  tingling  sensation 
increased  almost  to  torture;  but  he  could  not  move. 
That  face  held  him. 

He  must  get  away  before  she  came  out !  That  was 
his  one  thought.  The  first  torment  of  awakening 
sensation  to  a  new  life  was  passing.  He  advanced  a 
foot,  then  the  other;  he  moved  slowly,  but  he  moved 
at  last.  He  walked  on  down  the  street,  not  up  towards 
The  Bow  as  he  had  intended;  walked  on  past  The 
Greenbush  towards  The  Corners;  walked  on  and  on 
till  the  nightmare  of  this  awakening  from  a  nearly 
seven-years  abnormal  sleep  of  feeling  was  over.  Then 
he  turned  back  to  the  town.  The  town  clock  was  strik 
ing  seven.  The  men  were  entering  the  hall  by  tens 
and  twenties. 


408  Flamsted  Quarries 

He  took  his  seat  in  a  corner  beneath  the  shadow  of  a 
large  gallery  at  the  back,  over  the  entrance. 

There  were  only  men  admitted.  He  looked  upon 
the  hundreds  assembled,  and  realized  for  the  first  time 
in  more  than  six  years  that  he  was  again  a  free  man 
among  free  men.  He  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  of 
realization. 

At  a  quarter  past  seven  Father  Honore  made  his 
appearance  on  the  platform.  The  men  settled  at  once 
into  silence,  and  the  priest  began  without  preface: 

"My  friends,  we  will  take  up  to-night  what  we  may 
call  the  Brotherhood  of  Stone." 

The  men  looked  at  one  another  and  smiled.  Here 
was  something  new. 

"  That  is  the  right  thought  for  all  of  you  to  take  with 
you  into  the  quarries  and  the  sheds.  Don't  forget  it !" 

He  made  certain  distinct  pauses  after  a  few  sentences. 
This  was  done  with  intention ;  for  the  men  before  him 
were  of  various  nationalities,  although  he  called  this 
his  "English  night."  But  many  were  learning  and 
understood  imperfectly;  it  was  for  them  he  paused 
frequently.  He  wanted  to  give  them  time  to  take  in 
what  he  was  saying.  Sometimes  he  repeated  his 
words  in  Italian,  in  French,  that  the  foreigners  might 
better  comprehend  his  meaning. 

"Perhaps  some  of  you  have  worked  in  the  lime 
stone  quarries  on  the  Bay?  All  who  have  hold  up 
hands." 

A  hundred  hands,  perhaps  more,  were  raised. 

"Any  worked  in  the  marble  quarries  of  Vermont?" 
A  dozen  or  more  Canucks  waved  their  hands  vigor 
ously. 

"Here  are  three  pieces  —  limestone,  marble,  and 
granite."  He  held  up  specimens  of  the  three.  "All 


Flamsted  Quarries  409 

of  them  are  well  known  to  most  of  you.  Now  mark 
what  I  say  of  these  three :  —  first,  the  limestone  gets 
burned  principally;  second,  the  marble  gets  sculptured 
principally;  third,  the  granite  gets  hammered  and 
chiselled  principally.  Fire,  chisel,  and  hammer  at  work 
on  these  three  rocks;  but,  they  are  all  quarried  first. 
This  fact  of  their  being  quarried  puts  them  in  the 
Brotherhood  —  of  Labor." 

The  men  nudged  one  another,  and  nodded  em 
phatically. 

"They  are  all  three  taken  from  the  crust  of  the  earth; 
this  Earth  is  to  them  the  earth-mother.  Now  mark 
again  what  I  say :  —  this  fact  of  their  common  earth- 
mother  puts  them  in  the  Brotherhood  —  of  Kin." 

He  took  up  three  specimens  of  quartz  crystals. 

"This  quartz  crystal"  —he  turned  it  in  the  light, 
and  the  hexagonal  prisms  caught  and  reflected  dazzling 
rays  —  "I  found  in  the  limestone  quarry  on  the  Bay. 
This,"  he  took  up  another  smaller  one,  "I  found  after 
a  long  search  in  the  marble  quarries  of  Vermont.  This 
here,"  he  held  up  a  third,  a  smaller,  less  brilliant,  less 
perfect  one  —  "I  took  out  of  our  upper  quarry  after  a 
three  weeks'  search  for  it. 

"This  fact,  that  these  rocks,  although  of  different 
market  value  and  put  to  different  uses,  may  yield  the 
same  perfect  crystal,  puts  the  limestone,  the  marble, 
the  granite  in  the  Brotherhood  —  of  Equality. 

"In  our  other  talks,  we  have  named  the  elements  of 
each  rock,  and  given  some  study  to  each.  We  have 
found  that  some  of  their  elements  are  the  basic  ele 
ments  of  our  own  mortal  frames  —  our  bodies  have  a 
common  earth-mother  with  these  stones. 

"This  last  fact  puts  them  in  the  Brotherhood  —  of 
Man." 


410  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  seven  hundred  men  showed  their  appreciation 
of  the  point  made  by  prolonged  applause. 

"Now  I  want  to  make  clear  to  you  that,  although 
these  rocks  have  different  market  values,  are  put  to 
different  uses,  the  real  value  for  us  this  evening  con 
sists  in  the  fact  that  each,  in  its  own  place,  can  yield 
a  crystal  equal  in  purity  to  the  others.  —  Remember 
this  the  next  time  you  go  to  work  in  the  quarries  and 
the  sheds." 

He  laid  aside  the  specimens. 

"We  had  a  talk  last  month  about  the  guilds  of  four 
hundred  years  ago.  I  asked  you  then  to  look  upon 
yourselves  as  members  of  a  great  twentieth  century 
working  guild.  Have  you  done  it?  Has  every  man, 
who  was  present  then,  said  since,  when  hewing  a  foun 
dation  stone,  a  block  for  a  bridge  abutment,  a  corner 
stone  for  a  cathedral  or  a  railroad  station,  a  cap-stone 
for  a  monument,  a  milestone,  a  lintel  for  a  door,  a 
hearthstone  or  a  step  for  an  altar,  '  I  belong  to  the  great 
guild  of  the  makers  of  this  country ;  I  quarry  and  hew 
the  rock  that  lays  the  enduring  bed  for  the  iron  or  electric 
horses  which  rush  from  sea  to  sea  and  carry  the  bur 
den  of  humanity'?— Think  of  it,  men!  Yours  are  the 
hands  that  make  this  great  track  of  commerce  possible. 
Yours  are  the  hands  that  curve  the  stones,  afterwards 
reared  into  noble  arches  beneath  wrhich  the  people 
assemble  to  do  God  reverence.  Yours  are  the  hands  that 
square  the  deep  foundations  of  the  great  bridges  which, 
like  the  Brooklyn,  cross  high  in  mid-air  from  shore  to 
shore!  Have  you  said  this?  Have  you  done  it?" 

"Ay,  ay.  —  Sure.  —  We  done  it."  The  murmuring 
assent  was  polyglot. 

"  Very  well  —  see  that  you  keep  on  doing  it,  and 
show  that  you  do  it  by  the  good  work  you  furnish." 


Flamsted  Quarries  4 1 1 

He  motioned  to  the  manipulators  in  the  gallery  to 
make  ready  for  the  stereopticon  views.  The  blank 
blinding  round  played  erratically  on  the  curtain.  The 
entire  audience  sat  expectant. 

There  was  flashed  upon  the  screen  the  interior  of  a 
Canadian  "cabin."  The  family  were  at  supper;  the 
whole  interior,  simple  and  homely,  was  indicative  of 
warmth  and  cheerful  family  life. 

The  Canucks  in  the  audience  lost  their  heads.  The 
clapping  was  frantic.  Father  Honore  smiled.  He 
tapped  the  portrayed  wall  with  the  end  of  his  pointer. 

"  This  is  comfort  —  no  cold  can  penetrate  these 
walls  ;  they  are  double  plastered.  Credit  limestone 
with  that!" 

The  audience  showed  its  appreciation  in  no  uncer 
tain  way. 

"The  crystal  —  can  any  one  see  that  —  find  that  in 
this  interior?" 

The  men  were  silent.  Father  Honore  was  pointing 
to  the  mother  and  her  child;  the  father  was  holding 
out  his  arms  to  the  little  one  who,  with  loving  impatience, 
was  reaching  away  from  his  mother  over  the  table  to 
his  father.  They  comprehended  the  priest's  thought 
in  the  lesson  of  the  limestone :  —  the  love  and  trust  of 
the  human.  No  words  were  needed.  An  emotional 
silence  made  itself  felt. 

The  picture  shifted.  There  was  thrown  upon  the 
screen  the  marble  Cathedral  of  Milan.  A  murmur  of 
delight  ran  through  the  house. 

"  Here  we  have  the  limestone  in  the  form  of  marble. 
Its  beauty  is  the  price  of  unremitting  toil.  This,  too, 
belongs  in  the  brotherhoods  of  labor,  kin,  and  equality. 
—  Do  you  find  the  crystal?" 

His  pointer  swept  the  hierarchy  of  statues  on  the 


4 1  2  Flamsted  Quarries 

roof,  upwards  to  the  cross  on  the  pinnacle,  where  it 
rested. 

"This  crystal  is  the  symbol  of  what  inspires  and 
glorifies  humanity.  The  crystal  is  yours,  men,  if  with 
believing  hearts  you  are  willing  to  say  'Our  Father' 
in  the  face  of  His  works." 

He  paused  a  moment.  It  was  an  understood  thing 
in  the  semi-monthly  talks,  that  the  men  were  free  to 
ask  questions  and  to  express  an  opinion,  even,  at  times, 
to  argue  a  point.  The  men's  eyes  were  fixed  with  keen 
appreciation  on  the  marble  beauty  before  them,  when  a 
voice  broke  the  silence. 

"That  sounds  all  right  enough,  your  Reverence, 
what  you  've  said  about  'Our  Father'  and  the  brother 
hoods,  but  there  's  many  a  man  says  it  that  won't  own 
me  for  a  brother.  There  's  a  weak  joint  somewhere 
—  and  no  offence  meant." 

Some  of  the  men  applauded. 

Father  Honore  turned  from  the  screen  and  faced  the 
men ;  his  eyes  flashed.  The  audience  loved  to  see  him 
in  this  mood,  for  they  knew  by  experience  that  he  was 
generally  able  to  meet  his  adversary,  and  no  odds  given 
or  taken. 

"That 's  you,  is  it,  Szchenetzy?" 

"Yes,  it's  me." 

"  Do  you  remember  in  last  month's  talk  that  I  showed 
you  the  Dolomites  —  the  curious  mountains  of  the 
Tyrol?  —  and  in  connection  with  those  the  Brenner 
Pass?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  something  like  seven  hundred  years  ago  a 
poor  man,  a  poet  and  travelling  musician,  was  riding 
over  that  pass  and  down  into  that  very  region  of 
the  Dolomites.  He  made  his  living  by  stopping  at  the 


Flamsted  Quarries  413 

stronghold-castles  of  those  times  and  entertaining  the 
powerful  of  the  earth  by  singing  his  poems  set  to  music 
of  his  own  making.  Sometimes  he  got  a  suit  of  cast- 
off  clothes  in  payment ;  sometimes  only  bed  and  board 
for  a  time.  But  he  kept  on  singing  his  little  poems  and 
making  more  of  them  as  he  grew  rich  in  experience  of 
men  and  things ;  for  he  never  grew  rich  in  gold  - 
money  was  the  last  thing  they  ever  gave  him.  So  he 
continued  long  his  wandering  life,  singing  his  songs  in 
courtyard  and  castle  hall  until  they  sang  their  way 
into  the  hearts  of  the  men  of  his  generation.  And 
while  he  wandered,  he  gained  a  wonderful  knowledge  of 
life  and  its  ways  among  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low; 
and,  pondering  the  things  he  had  seen  and  the  many 
ways  of  this  world,  he  said  to  himself,  that  day  when  he 
was  riding  over  the  Brenner  Pass,  the  same  thing  that 
you  have  just  said  —  in  almost  the  same  words :  — 
'Many  a  man  calls  God  "Father"  who  won't  acknowl 
edge  me  for  a  brother.' 

"I  don't  know  how  he  reconciled  facts  —  for  your 
fact  seems  plain  enough  —  nor  do  I  know  how  you  can 
reconcile  them ;  but  what  I  do  know  is  this :  —  that  man, 
poor  in  this  world's  goods,  but  rich  in  experience  and 
in  a  natural  endowment  of  poetic  thought  and  musical 
ability,  kept  on  making  poems,  kept  on  singing  them, 
despite  that  fact  to  which  he  had  given  expression  as 
he  fared  over  the  Brenner;  despite  the  fact  that  a  suit 
of  cast-off  clothes  was  all  he  got  for  his  entertainment  of 
those  who  would  not  call  him  'brother.'  Discouraged 
at  times  —  for  he  was  very  human  —  he  kept  on  giv 
ing  the  best  that  was  in  him,  doing  the  work  appointed 
for  him  in  this  world  —  and  doing  it  with  a  whole  heart 
Godwards  and  Christwards,  despite  his  poverty,  de 
spite  the  broken  promises  of  the  great  to  reward  him 


414  Flamsted  Quarries 

pecuniarily,  despite  the  world,  despite  facts,  Szchenetzy ! 
He  sang  when  he  was  young  of  earthly  love  and  in 
middle  age  of  heavenly  love,  and  his  songs  are  cherished, 
for  their  beauty  of  wisdom  and  love,  in  the  hearts  of  men 
to  this  day." 

He  smiled  genially  across  the  sea  of  faces  to 
Szchenetzy. 

"Come  up  some  night  with  your  violin,  Szchenetzy, 
and  we  will  try  over  some  of  those  very  songs  that  the 
Germans  have  set  to  music  of  their  own,  those  words 
of  Walter  of  the  Bird-Meadow  —  so  they  called  him 
then,  and  men  keep  on  calling  him  that  even  to  this 
day." 

He  turned  again  to  the  screen. 

"What  is  to  be  thrown  on  the  screen  now  —  in 
rapid  succession  for  our  hour  is  brief  —  I  call  our 
Marble  Quarry.  Just  think  of  it !  quarried  by  the  same 
hard  work  which  you  all  know,  by  which  you  earn 
your  daily  bread;  sculptured  into  forms  of  exceeding 
beauty  by  the  same  hard  toil  of  other  hands.  And 
behind  all  the  toil  there  is  the  soul  of  art,  ever  seeking 
expression  through  the  human  instrument  of  the  prac 
tised  hand  that  quarries,  then  sculptures,  then  places, 
and  builds !  I  shall  give  a  word  or  two  of  explanation 
in  regard  to  time  and  locality ;  next  month  we  will  take 
the  subjects  one  by  one." 

There  flashed  upon  the  screen  and  in  quick  suc 
cession,  although  the  men  protested  and  begged  for  an 
extension  of  exposures,  the  noble  Pisan  group  and 
Niccola  Pisano's  pulpit  in  the  baptistery  —  the  horses 
from  the  Parthenon  frieze  —  the  Zeus  group  from  the 
great  altar  at  Pergamos  —  Theseus  and  the  Centaur  — 
the  Wrestlers  —  the  Discus  Thrower  and,  last,  the 
exquisite  little  church  of  Saint  Mary  of  the  Thorn,  — 


Flamsted  Quarries  415 

•  the  Arno's  jewel,  the  seafarers'  own,  —  that  looks  out 
over  the  Pisan  waters  to  the  Mediterranean. 

It  was  a  magnificent  showing.  No  words  from 
Father  Honore  were  needed  to  bring  home  to  his  audi 
ence  the  lesson  of  the  Marble  Quarry. 

"I  call  the  next  series,  which  will  be  shown  without 
explanation  and  merely  named,  other  members  of  the 
Brotherhood  of  Stone.  We  study  them  separately  later 
on  in  the  summer." 

The  cathedrals  of  York,  Amiens,  Westminster, 
Cologne,  Mayence,  St.  Mark's  —  a  noble  array  of 
man's  handiwork,  were  thrown  upon  the  screen.  The 
men  showed  their  appreciation  by  thunderous  applause. 

The  screen  was  again  a  blank ;  then  it  filled  suddenly 
with  the  great  Upper  Quarry  in  The  Gore.  The  granite 
ledges  sloped  upward  to  meet  the  blue  of  the  sky.  The 
great  steel  derricks  and  their  crisscrossing  cables  cast 
curiously  foreshortened  shadows  on  the  gleaming  white 
expanse.  Here  and  there  a  group  of  men  showed  dark 
against  a  ledge.  In  the  centre,  one  of  the  monster  der 
ricks  held  suspended  in  its  chains  a  forty-ton  block  of 
granite  just  lifted  from  its  eternal  bed.  Beside  it  a 
workman  showed  like  a  pigmy. 

Some  one  proposed  a  three  times  three  for  the  home 
quarries.  The  men  rose  to  their  feet  and  the  cheers 
were  given  with  a  will.  The  ringing  echo  of  the  last 
had  not  died  away  when  the  quarry  vanished,  and  in 
its  place  stood  the  finished  cathedral  of  A.  —  the  work 
which  the  hands  of  those  present  were  to  create.  It 
was  a  reproduction  of  the  architect's  water-color 
sketch. 

The  men  still  remained  standing;  they  gave  no  out 
ward  expression  to  their  admiration;  that,  indeed,  al 
though  evident  in  their  faces,  was  overshadowed  by 


4 1 6  Flamsted  Quarries 

something  like  awe.  Their  hands  were  to  be  the  in 
struments  by  which  this  great  creation  of  the  mind  of 
man  should  become  a  fact.  Without  those  hands  the 
architect's  idea  could  not  be  materialized;  without  the 
"idea"  their  daily  work  would  fail. 

The  truth  went  home  to  each  man  present  —  even 
to  that  unknown  one  beneath  the  gallery  who,  when  the 
men  had  risen  to  cheer,  shrank  farther  into  his  dark 
corner  and  drew  short  sharp  breaths.  The  Past  would 
not  down  at  his  bidding;  he  was  beginning  to  feel  his 
weakness  when  he  had  most  need  of  strength. 

He  did  not  hear  Father  Honore's  parting  words :  — 
"Here  you  find  the  third  crystal  —  strength,  solidity, 
the  bedrock  of  endeavor.  Take  these  three  home  with 
you :  —  the  pure  crystal  of  human  love  and  trust,  the 
heart  believing  in  its  Maker,  the  strength  of  good 
character.  There  you  have  the  three  that  make  for 
equality  in  this  world  —  and  nothing  else  does.  Good 
night,  my  friends." 


VI 

FATHER  HONORfi  got  home  from  the  lecture 
a  little  before  nine.  He  renewed  the  fire,  drew 
up  a  chair  to  the  hearth,  took  his  violin  from 
its  case  and,  seating  himself  before  the  springing  blaze, 
made  ready  to  play  for  a  while  in  the  firelight.  This 
was  always  his  refreshment  after  a  successful  evening 
with  the  men.  He  drew  his  thumb  along  the  bow  — 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  rose  and  flung 
it  wide  with  a  human  enough  gesture  of  impatience; 
his  well-earned  rest  was  disturbed  too  soon.  He  failed 
to  recognize  the  man  who  was  standing  bareheaded  on 
the  step. 

"Father  Honore,  I've  come  home  —  don't  you 
know  me,  Champney?" 

There  was  no  word  in  response,  but  his  hands  were 
grasped  hard  —  he  was  drawn  into  the  room  —  the  door 
was  shut  on  the  chill  wind  of  that  March  night.  Then 
the  two  men  stood  silent,  gazing  into  each  other's 
eyes,  while  the  firelight  leaped  and  showed  to  each  the 
other's  face  —  the  priest's  working  with  a  powerful 
emotion  he  was  struggling  to  control;  Champney 
Googe's  apparently  calm,  but  in  reality  tense  with 
anxiety.  He  spoke  first : 

"I  want  to  know  about  my  mother  —  is  she  well?" 

Father  Honore  found  his  voice,  an  uncertain  one  but 
emphatic;  it  left  no  room  for  further  anxiety  in  the 
questioner's  mind. 

"Yes,  well,  thank  God,  and  looking  forward  to  this  — 


41 8  Flamsted  Quarries 

but  it 's  so  soon  !    I  don't  understand  —  when  did  you 
come?" 

He  kept  one  hand  on  Champney's  as  if  fearing  to 
lose  him,  with  the  other  he  pulled  forward  a  chair  from 
the  wall  and  placed  it  near  his  own;  he  sat  down  and 
drew  Champney  into  the  other  beside  him. 

"I  came  up  on  the  afternoon  train;  I  got  out  yes 
terday." 

"  It 's  so  unexpected.     The  chaplain  wrote  me  last 
month  that  there  was  a  prospect  of  this  within  the  next 
six  months,  but  I  had  no  idea  it  would  be  so  soon  — 
neither,  I  am  sure,  had  he." 

"Nor  I  —  I  don't  know  that  I  feel  sure  of  it  yet. 
Has  my  mother  any  idea  of  this?" 

"I  wasn't  at  liberty  to  tell  her  —  the  communica 
tion  was  confidential.  Still  she  knows  that  it  is  cus 
tomary  to  shorten  the  —  "he  caught  up  his  words. 

"  —  Term  for  exemplary  conduct?"  Champney 
finished  for  him. 

"  Yes.  I  can't  realize  this,  Champney ;  it 's  six  years 
and  four  months  — 

" Years  —  months!  You  might  say  six  eternities. 
Do  you  know,  I  can't  get  used  to  it  —  the  freedom,  I 
mean.  At  times  during  these  last  twenty-four  hours,  I 
have  actually  felt  lost  without  the  work,  the  routine  — 
the  solitude."  He  sighed  heavily  and  spoke  further, 
but  as  if  to  himself : 

"Last   Thanksgiving   Day  we   were  all   together  — 
eight  hundred  of  us  in  the  assembly  room  for  the  exer 
cises.     Two  men  get  pardoned  out  on  that  day,  and 
the  two  who  were  set  free  were  in  for  manslaughter  — 
one  for  twenty  years,  the  other  for  life.    They  had  been 
in  eighteen  years.     I  watched  their  faces  when  their 
numbers  were  called;    they  stepped   forward   to   the 


Flamsted  Quarries  419 

platform  and  were  told  of  their  pardon.  There  was  n't 
a  sign  of  comprehension,  not  a  movement  of  a  muscle, 
the  twitch  of  an  eyelid  —  simply  a  dead  stolid  stare. 
The  truth  is,  they  were  benumbed  as  to  feeling,  incap 
able  of  comprehending  anything,  of  initiating  anything, 
as  I  was  till  —  till  this  afternoon ;  then  I  began  to  live, 
to  feel  again." 

"That's  only  natural.  I've  heard  other  men  say 
the  same  thing.  You  '11  recover  tone  here  among  your 
own  —  your  friends  and  other  men." 

"Have  I  any?  —  I  mean  outside  of  you  and  my 
mother?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice,  but  subdued  eager 
ness  was  audible  in  it. 

"Have  you  any?  Why,  man,  a  friend  is  a  friend  for 
life  —  and  beyond.  Who  was  it  put  it  thus :  '  Said  one: 
I  would  go  up  to  the  gates  of  hell  with  a  friend.  —  Said 
the  other:  I  would  go  in.'  That  last  is  the  kind  you 
have  here  in  Flamsted,  Champney." 

The  other  turned  away  his  face  that  the  firelight 
might  not  betray  him. 

"It's  too  much  —  it's  too  much;  I  don't  deserve 
it." 

"Champney,  when  you  decided  of  your  own  accord 
to  expiate  in  the  manner  you  have  through  these  six 
years,  do  you  think  your  friends  —  and  others  —  did  n't 
recognize  your  manhood  ?  And  did  n't  you  resolve  at 
that  time  to  'put  aside'  those  things  that  were  behind 
you  once  and  forever  ?  —  clear  your  life  of  the  clogging 
part?" 

"Yes,  —  but  others  won't  — " 

"  Never  mind  others  —  you  are  working  out  your 
own  salvation." 

"  But  it 's  going  to  be  harder  than  I  thought  —  I  find 
I  am  beginning  to  dread  to  meet  people  —  everything 


420  Flamsted  Quarries 

is  so  changed.  It 's  going  to  be  harder  than  I  realized 
to  carry  out  that  resolution.  The  Past  won't  down  — 
everything  is  so  changed  —  everything  — 

Father  Honore  rose  to  turn  on  the  electric  lights. 
He  did  not  take  his  seat  again,  but  stood  on  the  hearth, 
back  to  the  fire,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  The 
clear  light  from  the  shaded  bulbs  shone  full  upon  the 
face  of  the  man  before  him,  and  the  priest,  searching 
that  face  to  read  its  record,  saw  set  upon  it,  and  his 
heart  contracted  at  the  sight,  the  indelible  seal  of  six 
years  of  penal  servitude.  The  close-cut  hair  was  gray; 
the  brow  was  marked  by  two  horizontal  furrows;  the 
cheeks  wrere  deeply  lined ;  and  the  broad  shoulders  — 
they  were  bent.  Formerly  he  stood  before  the  priest 
with  level  eyes,  now  he  was  shorter  by  an  inch  of  the 
six  feet  that  were  once  his.  He  noticed  the  hands  — 
the  hands  of  the  day-laborer. 

He  managed  to  reply  to  Champney's  last  remark 
without  betraying  the  emotion  that  threatened  to 
master  him. 

"Outwardly,  yes;  things  have  changed  and  will 
continue  to  change.  The  town  is  making  vast  strides 
towards  citizenship.  But  you  will  find  those  you  know 
the  same  —  only  grown  in  grace,  I  hope,  with  the 
years;  even  Mr.  Wiggins  is  convinced  by  this  time 
that  the  foreigners  are  not  barbarians." 

Champney  smiled.  "It  was  rough  on  Elmer  Wig 
gins  at  first." 

"Yes,  but  things  are  smoothing  out  gradually,  and 
as  a  son  of  Maine  he  has  too  much  common  sense  at 
bottom  to  swim  against  the  current.  And  there  's  old 
Joel  Quimber  —  I  never  see  him  that  he  does  n't  tell 
me  he  is  marking  off  the  days  in  his  'almanack,'  he 
calls  it,  in  anticipation  of  your  return." 


Flamsted  Quarries  421 

"Dear  old  Jo  !  —  No  !  —  Is  that  true?  Old  Jo 
doing  that?" 

"To  be  sure,  why  not?  And  there's  Octavius 
Buzzby  —  I  don't  think  he  would  mind  my  telling  you 
now  —  indeed,  I  don't  believe  he  'd  have  the  courage 
to  tell  you  himself  —  "  Father  Honore  smiled  happily, 
for  he  saw  in  Champney's  face  the  light  of  awakening 
interest  in  the  common  life  of  humanity,  and  he  felt  a 
prolongation  of  this  chat  would  clear  the  atmosphere 
of  overpowering  emotion  —  "there  have  never  three 
months  passed  by  these  last  six  years  that  he  has  n't 
deposited  half  of  his  quarterly  salary  with  Emlie  in 
the  bank  in  your  name  — ' 

"  Oh,  don't  —  don't !  I  can't  bear  it  —  dear  old 
Tave  — "  he  groaned  rather  than  spoke;  the  blood 
mounted  to  his  temples,  but  his  friend  proved  merciless. 

"And  there  's  Luigi  Poggi !  I  don't  know  but  he  will 
make  you  a  proposition,  when  he  knows  you  are  at 
home,  to  enter  into  partnership  with  him  and  young 
Caukins  —  the  Colonel's  fourth  eldest.  Champney,  he 
wants  to  atone  —  he  has  told  me  so  —  " 

"Is  —  is  he  married?" 

Father  Honore  noticed  that  his  lips  suddenly  went 
dry  and  he  swallowed  hard  after  his  question. 

"No,"  the  priest  hastened  to  say,  then  he  hesitated; 
he  was  wondering  how  far  it  was.  safe  to  probe  ;  "but 
it  is  my  strong  impression  that  he  is  thinking  seriously 
of  it  —  a  lovely  girl,  too,  she  is  —  "  he  saw  the  man's 
face  before  him  go  white,  the  jaw  set  like  a  vise  — 
"little  Dulcie  Caukins,  you  remember  her?" 

Champney  nodded  and  wet  his  lips. 

"  He  has  been  thrown  a  good  deal  with  the  Caukinses 
since  he  took  their  son  into  partnership;  the  Colonel's 
boys  are  all  doing  well.  Romanzo  is  in  New  York." 


422  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Still  with  the  Company?" 

"Yes,  in  the  main  office.  He  married  in  that  city 
two  years  ago  —  rather  well,  I  hear,  but  Mrs.  Caukins 
is  not  reconciled  yet.  Now,  there  's  a  friend !  You 
don't  know  the  depth  of  her  feeling  for  you  —  but  she 
has  shown  it  by  worshipping  your  mother." 

Champney  Googe's  eyes  filled  to  overflowing,  but 
he  squeezed  the  springing  drops  between  his  eyelids, 
and  asked  with  lively  interest: 

"Why  isn't  Mrs.  Caukins  reconciled?" 

"Well,  because  —  I  suppose  it's  no  secret  now,  at 
least  Mrs.  Caukins  has  never  made  one  of  it,  in  fact, 
has  aired  the  subject  pretty  thoroughly,  you  know  her 
way  —  " 

Champney  looked  up  and  smiled.  "  I  'm  glad  she 
has  n't  changed." 

"But  of  course  you  don't  know  it.  The  fact  is  she 
had  set  heart  on  having  for  a  daughter-in-law  Aileen 
Armagh  —  you  remember  little  Aileen?" 

Champney  Googe's  hands  closed  spasmodically  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair.  To  cover  this  involuntary  move 
ment,  he  leaned  forward  suddenly  and  kicked  a  burn 
ing  brand,  that  had  fallen  on  the  hearth,  back  into  the 
fireplace.  A  shower  of  sparks  flew  up  chimney. 

Father  Honore  went  on  without  waiting  for  the  an 
swer  he  knew  would  not  be  forthcoming:  "Aileen  gave 
me  a  fright  the  other  day.  I  met  her  on  the  street, 
and  she  took  that  occasion,  in  the  midst  of  a  good  deal 
of  noise  and  confusion,  to  inform  me  with  her  usual 
vivacity  of  manner  that  she  was  to  be  housekeeper  to 
a  man  — '  a  job  for  life,'  she  added  with  the  old  mis 
chief  dancing  in  her  eyes  and  the  merry  laugh  that  is  a 
tonic  for  the  blues.  Upon  my  asking  her  gravely  who 
was  the  fortunate  man  —  for  I  had  no  one  in  mind  and 


Flamsted  Quarries  423 

feared  some  impulsive  decision  —  she  pursed  her  lips, 
hesitated  a  moment,  and,  manufacturing  a  charming 
blush,  said:  —  'I  don't  mind  telling  you;  it's  Mr. 
Octavius  Buzzby.  I  'm  to  be  his  housekeeper  for  life 
and  take  care  of  him  in  his  old  age  after  his  work 
and  mine  is  finished  at  Champo.'  I  confess,  I  was 
relieved." 

"My  aunt  is  still  living,  then?"  Champney  asked 
with  more  eagerness  and  energy  than  the  occasion 
demanded.  His  eyes  shone  with  suppressed  excite 
ment,  and  ever-awakening  life  animated  every  feature. 
Father  Honor6,  noting  the  sudden  change,  read  again, 
as  once  six  years  before,  deep  into  this  man's 
heart. 

"Yes,  but  it  is  death  in  life.  Aileen  is  still  with  her 
—  faithful  as  the  sun,  but  rebelling  at  times  as  is  only 
natural.  The  girl  gave  promise  of  rich  womanhood, 
but  even  you  would  wonder  at  such  fine  development 
in  such  an  environment  of  continual  invalidism.  Mrs. 
Champney  has  had  two  strokes  of  paralysis;  it  is  only 
a  question  of  time." 

"  There  is  one  who  never  was  my  friend  —  I  've  often 
wondered  why." 

Into  the  priest's  inner  vision  flashed  that   evening 
before  his  departure  for  New  York  —  the  bedroom  — 
the  mother  —  that  confession  — 

"It  looks  that  way,  I  admit,  but  I  've  thought  some 
times  she  has  cared  for  you  far  more  than  any  one  will 
ever  know." 

Champney  started  suddenly  to  his  feet. 

"What  time  is  it?    I  must  be  going." 

" Going?  —  You  mean  home  —  to-night?" 

"Yes,  I  must  go  home.  I  came  to  ask  you  to  go  to 
my  mother  to  prepare  her  for  this  —  I  dared  not  shock 


424  Flamsted  Quarries 

her  by  going  unannounced.  You  '11  go  with  me  — 
you'll' tell  her?" 

"At  once." 

He  reached  for  his  coat  and  turned  off  the  lights. 
The  two  went  out  arm  and  arm  into  the  March  night. 
The  wind  was  still  rising. 

"It's  only  half-past  nine,  and  Mrs.  Googe  will  be 
up;  she  is  a  busy  woman." 

"Tell  me-  'he  drew  his  breath  short  —  "what 
has  my  mother  done  all  these  years  —  how  has  she 
lived?" 

"As  every  true  woman  lives  —  doing  her  full  duty 
day  by  day,  living  in  hope  of  this  joy." 

"  But  I  mean  what  has  she  done  to  live  —  to  pro 
vide  for  herself;  she  has  kept  the  house?" 

"To  be  sure,  and  by  her  own  exertions.  She  has 
never  been  willing  to  accept  pecuniary  aid  from  any 
friend,  not  even  from  Mr.  Buzzby,  or  the  Colonel.  I 
am  in  a  position  to  know  that  Mr.  Van  Ostend  did  his 
best  to  persuade  her  to  accept  something  just  as  a 
loan." 

"But  wJmt  has  she  been  doing?" 

"She  has  been  taking  the  quarrymen  for  meals  the 
last  six  years,  Champney  —  at  times  she  has  had  their 
families  to  board  with  her,  as  many  as  the  house  could 
accommodate." 

The  arm  which  his  own  held  was  withdrawn  with  a 
jerk.  Champney  Googe  faced  him;  they  were  on  the 
new  iron  bridge  over  the  Rothel. 

"You  mean  to  say  my  mother  —  my  mother,  Aurora 
Googe,  has  been  keeping  a  quarry  men's  boarding- 
house  all  these  years?" 

"Yes;  it  is  legitimate  work." 

"My  mother  —  my  mother  —  "  he  kept  repeating  as 


Flamsted  Quarries  425 

he  stood  motionless  on  the  bridge.  He  seemed  unable 
to  grasp  the  fact  for  a  moment;  then  he  laid  his  hand 
heavily  on  Father  Honore's  shoulder  as  if  for  support; 
he  spoke  low  to  himself,  but  the  priest  caught  a  few 
words : 

"  I  thank  Thee  —  thank  —  for  life  —  work  - 

He  seemed  to  come  gradually  to  himself,  to  recognize 
his  whereabouts.  He  began  to  walk  on,  but  very 
slowly. 

"Father  Honore,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  was  deeply 
earnest  but  at  the  same  time  almost  joyful,  "I  'm  not 
going  home  to  my  mother  empty-handed,  I  never  in 
tended  to  —  I  have  work.  I  can  work  for  her,  free  her 
from  care,  lift  from  her  shoulders  the  burden  of  toil  for 
my  sake." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Champney?" 

"I  made  application  to  the  manager  of  the  Com 
pany  this  afternoon;  I  saw  they  were  all  strangers  to 
me,  and  they  took  me  on  in  the  sheds  —  Shed  Num 
ber  Two.  I  went  to  work  this  afternoon.  You  see  I 
know  my  trade ;  I  learned  it  during  the  last  six  years. 
I  can  support  her  now  —  Oh  — 

He  stopped  short  just  as  they  were  leaving  the  bridge ; 
raised  his  head  to  the  black  skies  above  him,  reached 
upwards  with  both  hands  palm  outwards  — 

"  —  I  thank  my  Maker  for  these  hands;  I  thank  Him 
that  I  can  labor  with  these  hands ;  I  thank  Him  for  the 
strength  of  manhood  that  will  enable  me  to  toil  with 
these  hands;  I  thank  Him  for  my  knowledge  of  good 
and  evil;  I  thank  Him  that  I  have  'won  sight  out  of 
blindness — '"his  eyes  strained  to  the  skies  above 
The  Gore. 

The  moon,  struggling  with  the  heavy  drifting  cloud- 
masses,  broke  through  a  confined  ragged  circle  and, 


426  Flamsted  Quarries 

for  a  moment,  its  splendor  shone  upon  the  heights  of 
The  Gore;  its  effulgence  paled  the  arc-lights  in  the 
quarries;  a  silver  shaft  glanced  on  the  Rothel  in  its 
downward  course,  and  afar  touched  the  ruffled  waters 
of  Lake  Mesantic.  .  .  . 

"  I  '11  stay  here  on  the  lawn,"  he  said  five  minutes 
afterwards  upon  reaching  the  house.  A  light  was  burn 
ing  in  his  mother's  bedroom;  another  shone  from  her 
sitting-room  on  the  first  floor. 

The  priest  entered  without  knocking;  this  house 
was  open  the  year  round  to  the  frequent  comers  and 
goers  among  the  workmen.  He  rapped  at  the  sitting- 
room  door.  Mrs.  Champney  opened  it. 

"  Why,  Father  Honore,  I  did  n't  expect  you  to-night 
—  did  n't  you  have  the  —  What  is  it  ?  —  oh,  what  is 
it!"  she  cried,  for  the  priest's  face  betrayed  him. 

"  Joyful  news,  Mrs.  Champney,"  -  he  let  her  read 
his  face  —  "your  son  is  a  free  man  to-night." 

There  was  no  outcry  on  the  mother's  part;  but  her 
hands  clasped  each  other  till  the  nails  showed  white. 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"Here,  in  Flamsted  —  " 

"  Let  me  go  —  let  me  go  to  him  —  " 

"  He  has  come  to  you  —  he  is  just  outside  —  " 

She  was  past  him  with  a  rush  —  at  the  door  —  on 
the  porch  — 

"  Champney !  —  My  son  !  —  where  are  you?"  she 
cried  out  into  the  night. 

Her  answer  came  on  swift  feet.  He  sprang  up  the 
steps  two  at  a  time,  they  were  in  each  other's  arms  — • 
then  he  had  to  be  strong  for  both. 

He  led  her  in,  half  carrying  her;  placed  her  in  a 
chair;  knelt  before  her,  chafing  her  hands.  .  .  . 


Flamsted  Quarries  427 

Father  Honor£  made  his  escape;  they  were  uncon 
scious  of  his  presence  or  his  departure.  He  closed  the 
front  door  softly  behind  him,  and  on  feet  shod  with 
light-heartedness  covered  the  road  to  his  own  house 
in  a  few  minutes.  He  flung  aside  his  coat,  took  his 
violin,  and  played  and  played  till  late  into  the  night. 

Two  of  the  sisters  of  The  Mystic  Rose,  who  had  been 
over  to  Quarry  End  Park  nursing  a  sick  quarryman's 
wife  throughout  the  day,  paused  to  listen  as  they  passed 
the  house.  One  of  them  was  Sister  Ste.  Croix. 

The  violin  exulted,  rejoiced,  sang  of  love  heavenly, 
of  love  earthly,  of  all  loves  of  life  and  nature;  it  sang 
of  repentance,  of  expiation,  of  salvation  — 

"  I  can  bear  no  more,"  whispered  Sister  Ste.  Croix  to 
her  companion,  and  the  hand  she  laid  on  the  one  that 
was  raised  to  hush  her,  was  not  only  cold,  it  was  damp 
with  the  sweat  of  the  agony  of  remembrance. 

The  strains  of  the  violin's  song  accompanied  them 
to  their  own  door. 


VII 

THE  Saturday-night  frequenters  of  The  Green- 
bush  have  changed  with  the  passing  years  like 
all  else  in  Flamsted.  The  Greenbush  itself 
is  no  longer  a  hostelry,  but  a  cosy  club-house  purveyed 
for,  to  the  satisfaction  of  every  member,  by  its  old 
landlord,  Augustus  Buzzby.  The  Club's  membership, 
of  both  young  and  old  men,  is  large  and  increasing 
with  the  growth  of  the  town;  but  the  old  frequenters 
of  The  Greenbush  bar-room  head  the  list  —  Colonel 
Caukins  and  Octavius  Buzzby  paying  the  annual  dues 
of  their  first  charter  member,  old  Joel  Quimber,  now 
in  his  eighty-seventh  year. 

The  former  office  is  a  grill  room,  and  made  one 
with  the  back  parlor,  now  the  club  restaurant.  On 
this  Saturday  night  in  March,  the  white-capped  chef  — 
Augustus  prided  himself  in  keeping  abreast  the  times 
—  was  busy  in  the  grill  room,  and  Augustus  himself 
was  superintending  the  laying  of  a  round  table  for  ten. 
The  Colonel  was  to  celebrate  his  sixty-fifth  birthday 
by  giving  a  little  supper. 

"Nothing  elaborate,  Buzzby,"  he  said  a  week  before 
the  event,  "  a  fine  saddle  of  mutton  —  Southdown  — 
some  salmon  trout,  a  stiff  bouillon  for  Quimber,  you 
know  his  masticatory  apparatus  is  no  longer  equal  to 
this  whole  occasion,  and  a  chive  salad.  The  cake  Mrs. 
Caukins  elects  to  provide  herself,  and  I  need  not  assure 
you,  who  know  her  culinary  powers,  that  it  will  be  a 
ne  plus  ultra  of  a  cake,  both  in  material  and  execution ; 


Flamsted  Quarries  429 

fruits,  coffee  and  cheese  —  Roquefort.  Your  accom 
plished  chef  can  fill  in  the  interstices.  Here  are  the 
cards  —  Quimber  at  my  right,  if  you  please." 

Augustus  looked  at  the  cards  and  smiled. 

"All  the  old  ones  included,  I  see,  Colonel,"  he  ran 
over  the  names,  "  Quimber,  Tave,  Elmer  Wiggins, 
Emlie,  Poggi  and  Caukins"  -he  laughed  outright; 
"that's  a  good  firm,  Colonel,"  he  said  slyly,  and  the 
Colonel  smiled  his  appreciation  of  the  gentle  insinua 
tion  —  "  the  manager  at  the  sheds,  and  the  new  boss  of 
the  Upper  Quarry?"  He  looked  inquiringly  at  the 
Colonel  on  reading  the  last  name. 

"That's  all  right,  Buzzby;  he's  due  here  next 
Saturday,  the  festal  day ;  and  I  want  to  give  some  sub 
stantial  expression  to  him,  as  a  stranger  and  neighbor, 
of  Flamsted's  hospitality." 

Augustus  nodded  approval,  and  continued:  "And 
me !  Thank  you  kindly,  Colonel,  but  you  '11  have  to 
excuse  me  this  time.  I  want  everything  to  go  right  on 
this  special  occasion.  I  '11  join  you  with  a  pipe  after 
wards." 

"As  you  please,  Buzzby,  only  make  it  a  cigar;  and 
consider  yourself  included  in  the  spirit  if  not  in  the  flesh. 
Nine  sharp." 

At  a  quarter  of  nine,  just  as  Augustus  finished  putting 
the  last  touch  to  an  already  perfect  table,  the  Colonel 
made  his  appearance  at  The  Greenbush,  a  pasteboard 
box  containing  a  dozen  boutonnieres  under  his  arm. 
He  laid  one  on  the  table  cloth  by  each  plate,  and  stood 
back  to  enjoy  the  effect.  He  rubbed  his  hands  softly 
in  appreciation  of  the  "color  scheme"  as  he  termed  it  — 
a  phrase  that  puzzled  Augustus.  He  saw  no  "scheme" 
and  very  little  "color"  in  the  dark-wainscoted  room, 
except  the  cheerful  fire  on  the  hearth  and  some  heavy 


4 30  Flamsted  Quarries 

red  half-curtains  at  the  windows  to  shut  out  the  cold 
and  dark  of  this  March  night.  The  walls  were  white; 
the  grill  of  dark  wood,  and  the  floor  painted  dark  brown. 
But  the  red  carnations  on  the  snow-white  damask  did 
somehow  "touch  the  whole  thing  up,"  as  he  confided 
later  to  his  brother. 

The  Colonel's  welcome  to  his  companions  was  none 
the  less  cordial  because  he  repressed  his  usual  flow  of 
eloquence  till  "the  cloth  should  be  removed."  He  pur 
posed  then  to  spring  a  surprise,  oratorical  and  otherwise, 
on  those  assembled. 

After  the  various  toasts,  —  all  given  and  drunk  in 
sweet  cider  made  for  the  occasion  from  Northern 
Spies,  the  Colonel  being  prohibitive  for  example's  sake, 
—  the  good  wishes  for  many  prospective  birthdays  and 
prosperous  years,  the  Colonel  filled  his  glass  to  the 
brim  and,  holding  it  in  his  left  hand,  literally  rose  to 
the  occasion. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began  in  full  chest  tones,  "some 
fourteen  years  ago,  five  of  us  now  present  were  wont 
to  discuss  in  the  old  office  of  this  hospitable  hostelry, 
now  the  famous  grill  room  of  the  Club,  the  Invasion  of 
the  New  —  the  opening  of  the  great  Flamsted  Quarries 
—  the  migrations  of  the  nations  hitherwards  and  the 
consequent  prospective  industrial  development  of  our 
native  village." 

He  paused  and  looked  about  him  impressively; 
finally  his  eye  settled  sternly  on  Elmer  Wiggins  who, 
satisfied  inwardly  with  the  choice  and  bounteous  sup 
per  provided  by  the  Colonel,  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  "stand  fire",  as  he  said  afterwards  to 
Augustus. 

The  Colonel  resumed  his  speech,  his  voice  acquiring 
as  he  proceeded  a  volume  and  depth  that  carried  it  far 


Flamsted  Quarries  431 

beyond  the  grill  room's  walls  to  the  ears  of  edified 
passers  on  the  street: 

''There  were  those  among  us  who  maintained  — 
in  the  face  of  extreme  opposition,  I  am  sorry  to  say  — 
that  this  town  of  Flamsted  would  soon  make  itself  a 
factor  in  the  vast  industrial  life  of  our  marvellous 
country.  In  retrospect,  I  reflect  that  those  who  had 
this  faith,  this  trust  in  the  resources  of  their  native  town, 
were  looked  upon  with  scorn;  were  subjected  to  per 
sonal  derision;  were  termed,  to  put  it  mildly,  'mere 
dreamers '  -  -  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  original  ex 
pression  was  'darned  boomers.'  Mr.  Wiggins,  here, 
our  esteemed  wholesale  and  retail  pharmacist,  will 
correct  me  if  I  am  wrong  on  this  point  — 

He  paused  again  as  if  expecting  an  answer;  nothing 
was  forthcoming  but  a  decidedly  embarrassed  "Hem," 
from  the  afore-named  pharmacist.  The  Colonel  was 
satisfied. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  in  refutation  of  that  term  —  I 
will  not  repeat  myself  —  and  what  it  implied,  after 
fourteen  years,  comparable  to  those  seven  fat  kine  of 
Pharaoh's  dream,  our  town  can  point  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  our  land  to  its  monumental  works 
of  art  and  utility  that  may  well  put  to  blush  the  re 
nowned  record  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans." 

Prolonged  applause  and  a  ringing  cheer. 

"All  over  our  fair  land  the  granite  monoliths  of 
Flamsted,  beacon  or  battle,  point  heavenwards.  The 
transcontinental  roads,  that  track  and  nerve  our  coun 
try,  cross  and  re-cross  the  raging  torrents  of  western 
rivers  on  granite  abutments  from  the  Flamsted  quar 
ries  !  The  laws,  alike  for  the  just  and  unjust,"  •  -  the 
Colonel  did  not  perceive  his  slip,  but  Elmer  Wiggins 
smiled  to  himself,  —  "  are  promulgated  within  the  stately 


432  Flamsted  Quarries 

granite  halls  of  the  capitals  of  our  statehood  —  Flam 
sted  again !  The  gospel  of  praise  and  prayer  will 
shortly  resound  beneath  the  arches  of  the  choir  and 
nave  of  the  great  granite  cathedral  —  the  product  of 
the  quarries  in  The  Gore!" 

Deafening  applause,  clinking  of  glasses,  and  cries 
of  "  Good  !  True  —  Hear  —  Hear ! " 

The  Colonel  beamed  and  gathered  himself  together 
with  a  visible  effort  for  his  peroration.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  his  heart. 

"A  man  of  feeling,  gentlemen,  has  a  heart.  He  is 
not  oblivious  either  of  the  needs  of  his  neighbor,  his 
community,  or  the  world  in  general.  Although  he  is 
vulnerable  to  wounds  in  the  house  of  his  friends," 
—  a  severe  look  falls  upon  Wiggins,  —  "he  is  not  im 
pervious  to  appeal  for  sympathy  from  without.  I  trust 
I  have  defined  a  man  of  feeling,  gentlemen,  a  man  of 
heart,  as  regards  the  world  in  general.  And  now,  to 
make  an  abrupt  descent  from  the  abstract  to  the  con 
crete,  from  the  general  to  the  particular,  I  will  permit 
myself  to  say  that  those  aspersions  cast  upon  me  four 
teen  years  ago  as  a  mere  promoter,  irrespective  of  my 
manhood,  hurt  me  as  a  man  of  feeling  —  a  man  of 
heart. 

"Sir  — "  he  turned  again  to  Elmer  Wiggins  who 
was  apparently  the  lightning  conductor  for  the  Colonel's 
fourteen  years  of  pent-up  injury  —  "a  father  has  his 
feelings.  You  are  not  a  father  —  I  draw  no  conclu 
sions  ;  but  if  you  had  been  a  father  fourteen  years  ago 
in  this  very  room,  I  would  have  trusted  to  your  mag 
nanimity  not  to  give  expression  to  your  decided  views 
on  the  subject  of  the  native  Americans'  intermarriage 
with  those  of  a  race  foreign  to  us.  I  assure  you,  sir, 
such  a  view  not  only  narrows  the  mind,  but  constricts 


Flamsted  Quarries  433 

humanity,  and  ossifies  the  heart  —  that  special  organ 
by  which  the  world,  despite  present-day  detractors, 
lives  and  moves  and  has  its  being."  (Murmuring 
assent.) 

"But,  sir,  I  believe  you  have  come  to  see  otherwise, 
else  as  my  guest  on  this  happy  occasion,  I  should  not 
permit  myself  to  apply  to  you  so  personal  a  remark. 
And,  gentlemen,"  the  Colonel  swelled  visibly,  but 
those  nearest  him  caught  the  shimmer  of  a  suspicious 
moisture  in  his  eyes,  "I  am  in  a  position  to-night — • 
this  night  whereon  you  have  added  to  my  happiness 
by  your  presence  at  this  board  —  to  repeat  now  what 
I  said  fourteen  years  ago  in  this  very  room :  I  consider 
myself  honored  in  that  a  member  of  my  immediate 
family,  one  very,  very  dear  to  me,"  his  voice  shook  in 
spite  of  his  effort  to  strengthen  it,  "is  contemplating  en 
tering  into  the  solemn  estate  of  matrimony  at  no  distant 
date  with  —  a  foreigner,  gentlemen,  but  a  naturalized 
citizen  of  our  great  and  glorious  United  States.  Gentle 
men,"  he  filled  his  glass  again  and  held  it  high  above 
his  head,  —  "I  give  you  with  all  my  heart  Mr.  Luigi 
Poggi,  an  honored  and  prosperous  citizen  of  Flamsted 
—  my  future  son-in-law  —  the  prospective  husband 
of  my  youngest  daughter,  Dulcibella  Caukins." 

The  company  rose  to  a  man,  young  Caukins  assisting 
Quimber  to  his  feet. 

With  loud  and  hearty  acclaim  they  welcomed  the 
new  member  of  the  Caukins  family;  they  crowded 
about  the  Colonel,  and  no  hand  that  grasped  his  and 
Luigi's  in  congratulation  was  firmer  and  more  cordial 
than  Elmer  Wiggins'.  The  Colonel's  smile  expanded; 
he  was  satisfied  —  the  old  score  was  wiped  out. 

Afterwards  with  cigars  and  pipes  they  discussed  for 
an  hour  the  affairs  of  Flamsted.  The  influx  of  for- 


434  Flamsted  Quarries 

eigners  with  their  families  was  causing  a  shortage  of 
houses  and  housing.  Emlie  proposed  the  establish 
ment  of  a  Loan  and  Mortgage  Company  to  help  out 
the  new-comers.  Poggi  laid  before  them  his  plan  for 
an  Italian  House  to  receive  the  unmarried  men  on 
their  arrival. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  new  head  of 
the  Upper  Quarry,  "you  brought  up  a  crowd  with  you 
this  afternoon,  did  n't  you  ?  —  mostly  my  countrymen  ?" 

"  No,  a  mixed  lot  —  about  thirty.  A  few  Scotch  and 
English  came  up  on  the  same  train.  Have  they  applied 
to  you?"  He  addressed  the  manager  of  the  Com 
pany's  sheds. 

"No.  I  think  they'll  be  along  Monday.  I've 
noticed  that  those  two  nationalities  generally  have  re 
lations  who  house  and  look  out  for  them  when  they 
come.  But  I  had  an  application  from  an  American 
just  after  the  train  came  in;  I  don't  often  have  that 
now." 

"Did  you  take  him  on?"  the  Colonel  asked  between 
two  puffs  of  his  Havana. 

"Yes;  and  he  went  to  work  in  Shed  Number  Two. 
I  confess  he  puzzles  me." 

"What  was  he  like?"  asked  the  head  of  the  Upper 
Quarry. 

"Tall,  blue  eyes,  gray  hair,  but  only  thirty-four  as 
the  register  showed  —  misfit  clothes  —  " 

"  That 's  the  one  —  he  came  up  in  the  train  with  me. 
I  noticed  him  in  the  car.  I  don't  believe  he  moved  a 
muscle  all  the  way  up.  I  could  n't  make  him  out, 
could  you?" 

"Well,  no,  I  couldn't.  By  the  way,  Colonel,  I 
noticed  the  name  he  entered  was  a  familiar  one  in  this 
part  of  Maine  —  Googe  —  " 


Flamsted  Quarries  435 

"Googe!"  The  Colonel  looked  at  the  speaker  in 
amazement;  "did  he  give  his  first  name?" 

"  Yes,  Louis  —  Louis  C.  Googe  —  " 

"My  God!" 

Whether  the  ejaculation  proceeded  from  one  mouth 
or  five,  the  manager  and  foreman  could  not  distinguish ; 
but  the  effect  on  the  Flamsted  men  was  varied  and  re 
markable.  The  Colonel's  cigar  dropped  from  his 
shaking  hand ;  his  face  was  ashen.  Emlie  and  Wiggins 
stared  at  each  other  as  if  they  had  taken  leave  of  their 
senses.  Joel  Quimber  leaned  forward,  his  hands 
folded  on  the  head  of  his  cane,  and  spoke  to  Octavius 
who  sat  rigid  on  his  chair: 

"What  'd  he  say,  Tave?  —  Champ  to  home?" 

But  Octavius  Buzzby  was  beyond  the  power  of 
speech.  Augustus  spoke  for  him: 

"He  said  a  man  applied  for  work  in  the  sheds  this 
afternoon,  Uncle  Jo,  who  wrote  his  name  Louis  C. 
Googe." 

"Thet  's  him  —  thet  's  Champ  —  Champ  's  to  home. 
You  help  me  inter  my  coat,  Tave,  I  'm  goin'  to  see  ef  's 
true  — "  He  rose  with  difficulty.  Then  Octavius 
spoke;  his  voice  shook: 

"  No,  Uncle  Jo,  you  sit  still  a  while ;  if  it 's  Champ- 
ney,  we  can't  none  of  us  see  him  to-night."  He  pushed 
him  gently  into  his  chair. 

The  Colonel  was  rousing  himself.  He  stepped  to 
the  telephone  and  called  up  Father  Honore*. 

"Father  Honore' —  " 

"This  is  Colonel  Caukins.  Can  you  tell  me  if  there 
is  any  truth  in  the  report  that  Champney  Googe  has 
returned  to-day?" 


436  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Thank  God." 

He  put  up  the  receiver,  but  still  remained  standing. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the  manager  and  the  Upper 
Quarry  guest,  his  voice  was  thick  with  emotion  and 
the  tears  of  thankfulness  were  coursing  down  his 
cheeks,  "perhaps  no  greater  gift  could  be  bestowed  on 
my  sixty-fifth  birthday  than  Champney  Googe's  re 
turn  to  his  home  —  his  mother  —  his  friends  —  we  are 
all  his  friends.  Perhaps  the  years  are  beginning  to  tell 
on  me,  but  I  feel  that  I  must  excuse  myself  to  you  and 
go  home  —  I  want  to  tell  my  wife.  I  will  explain  all  to 
you,  as  strangers  among  us,  some  other  time;  for  the 
present  I  must  beg  your  indulgence  —  joy  never  kills, 
but  I  am  experiencing  the  fact  that  it  can  weaken." 

"That 's  all  right,  Colonel,"  said  the  manager;  "we 
understand  it  perfectly  and  it 's  late  now." 

"I'll  go,  too,  Colonel,"  said  Octavius;  "I'm  going 
to  take  Uncle  Jo  home  in  the  trap." 

Luigi  Poggi  helped  the  Colonel  into  his  great  coat. 
When  he  left  the  room  with  his  prospective  father-in- 
law,  his  handsome  face  had  not  regained  the  color  it 
lost  upon  the  first  mention  of  Champney 's  name. 

Emlie  and  Wiggins  remained  a  few  minutes  to  ex 
plain  as  best  they  could  the  situation  to  the  stranger 
guests,  and  the  cause  of  the  excitement. 

"I  remember  now  hearing  about  this  affair;  I  read 
it  in  the  newspapers  —  it  must  have  been  seven  or 
eight  years  ago." 

"Six  years  and  four  months."  Mr.  Wiggins  cor 
rected  him. 

"  I  guess  it  '11  be  just  as  well  not  to  spread  the  matter 
much  among  the  men  —  they  might  kick ;  besides  he 
is  n't,  of  course,  a  union  man." 

"There  's  one  thing  in  his  favor,"  it  was  Emlie  who 


Flamsted  Quarries  437 

spoke,  "the  management  and  the  men  have  changed 
since  it  occurred,  and  there  are  very  few  except  our 
home  folks  that  would  be  apt  to  mention  it  —  and  they 
can  be  trusted  where  Champney  Googe  is  concerned." 

The  four  went  out  together. 

The  grill  room  of  The  Greenbush  was  empty  save 
for  Augustus  Buzzby  who  sat  smoking  before  the  dy 
ing  fire.  Old  visions  were  before  his  eyes  —  one  of  the 
office  on  a  June  night  many  years  ago ;  the  five  friends 
discussing  Champney  Googe's  prospects ;  the  arrival  of 
Father  Honore  and  little  Aileen  Armagh  —  so  Luigi 
had  at  last  given  up  hope  in  that  direction  for  good  and 
all. 

The  town  clock  struck  twelve.  He  sighed  heavily; 
it  was  for  the  old  times,  the  old  days,  the  old  life. 


VIII 

IT  was  several  months  before  Aileen  saw  him.  Her 
close  attendance  on  Mrs.  Champney  and  her 
avoidance  of  the  precincts  of  The  Gore  —  Mag 
gie  complained  loudly  to  Mrs.  Googe  that  Aileen  no 
longer  ran  in  as  she  used  to  do,  and  Mrs.  Caukins  con 
fided  to  her  that  she  thought  Aileen  might  feel  sensi 
tive  about  Luigi's  engagement,  for  she  had  been  there 
but  twice  in  five  months  —  precluded  the  possibility 
of  her  meeting  him.  She  excused  herself  to  Mrs.  Googe 
and  the  Sisters  on  the  ground  of  her  numerous  duties 
at  Champ-au-Haut ;  Ann  and  Hannah  were  both  well 
on  in  years  and  Mrs.  Champney  was  failing  daily. 

It  was  perhaps  five  months  after  his  return  that  she 
was  sitting  one  afternoon  in  Mrs.  Champney's  room, 
in  attendance  on  her  while  the  regular  nurse  was  out 
for  two  hours.  There  had  been  no  conversation  be 
tween  them  for  nearly  the  full  time,  when  Mrs.  Champ 
ney  spoke  abruptly  from  the  bed : 

"I  heard  last  month  that  Champney  Googe  is  back 
again  —  has  been  back  for  five  months ;  why  did  n't 
you  tell  me  before?" 

The  voice  was  very  weak,  but  querulous  and  sharp. 
Aileen  was  sewing  at  the  window.  She  did  not  look  up. 

"Because  I  didn't  suppose  you  liked  him  well 
enough  to  care  about  his  coming  home ;  besides,  it  was 
Octavius'  place  to  tell  you." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  about  his  coming,  or  his  going 
either,  for  that  matter,  but  I  do  care  about  knowing 


Flamsted  Quarries  439 

things  that  happen  under  my  very  nose  within  a  reason 
able  time  of  their  happening.  I  'm  not  in  my  dotage 
yet,  I  '11  have  you  to  understand." 

Aileen  was  silent. 

"Come,  say  something,  can't  you?"   she  snapped. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  say,  Mrs.  Champney?" 
She  spoke  wearily,  but  not  impatiently.  The  daily, 
almost  hourly  demands  of  this  sick  old  woman  had, 
in  a  way,  exhausted  her. 

"Tell  me  what  he  's  doing." 

"He's  at  work." 

"Where?" 

"In  the  sheds  —  Shed  Number  Two." 

"What !"  Paralysis  prevented  any  movement  of  her 
hands,  but  her  head  jerked  on  the  pillow  to  one  side, 
towards  Aileen. 

"I  said  he  was  at  work  in  the  sheds." 

"What 's  Champney  Googe  doing  in  the  sheds?" 

"Earning  his  living,  I  suppose,  like  other  men." 

Almeda  Champney  was  silent  for  a  while.  Aileen 
could  but  wonder  what  the  thoughts  might  be  that  were 
filling  the  shrivelled  box  of  the  brain  —  what  were  the 
feelings  in  the  ossifying  heart  of  the  woman  who  had 
denied  help  to  one  of  her  own  blood  in  time  of  need. 
Had  she  any  feeling  indeed,  except  that  for  self  ? 

"Have  you  seen  him?" 

"No." 

"I  should  think  he  would  want  to  hide  his  head  for 
shame." 

"I  don't  see  why."    She  spoke  defiantly. 

"Why?  Because  I  don't  see  how  after  such  a  career 
a  man  can  hold  up  his  head  among  his  own." 

Aileen  bit  her  under  lip  to  keep  back  the  sharp  re 
tort.  She  chose  another  and  safer  way. 


44-O  Flamsted  Quarries 

"  Oh,"  she  said  brightly,  looking  over  to  Mrs.  Champ- 
ney  with  a  frank  smile,  "but  he  has  really  just  begun 
his  career,  you  know  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  he  has  just  begun  honest  work  among 
honest  men,  and  that 's  the  best  career  for  him  or  any 
other  man  to  my  thinking." 

"Umph  !  —  little  you  know  about  it." 

Aileen  laughed  outright.  "Oh,  I  know  more  than 
you  think  I  do,  Mrs.  Champney.  I  have  n't  lived 
twenty-six  years  for  nothing,  and  what  I  've  seen,  I  've 
seen  —  and  I  've  no  near-sighted  eyes  to  trouble  me 
either;  and  what  I've  heard,  I  've  heard,  for  my  ears  are 
good  —  regular  long-distance  telephones  sometimes." 

She  was  not  prepared  for  the  next  move  on  Mrs. 
Champney's  part. 

"I  believe  you  would  marry  him  now  —  after  all,  if 
he  asked  you."  She  spoke  with  a  sneer. 

"Do  you  really  believe  it?"  She  folded  her  work 
and  prepared  to  leave  the  room,  for  she  heard  the  nurse's 
step  in  the  hall  below.  "  Well,  if  you  do,  I  '11  tell  you 
something,  Mrs.  Champney,  but  I  'd  like  it  to  be  be 
tween  us."  She  crossed  the  room  and  paused  beside 
the  bed. 

"What?" 

She  bent  slightly  towards  her.  "I  would  rather 
marry  a  man  who  earns  his  three  dollars  a  day  at  hon 
est  work  of  quarrying  or  cutting  stones,  —  or  breaking 
them,  for  that  matter,"  —she  added  under  her  breath, 
"but  I  'm  not  saying  he  would  be  any  relation  of  yours 
—  than  a  man  who  does  n't  know  what  a  day's  toil  is 
except  to  cudgel  his  brains  tired,  with  contriving  the 
quickest  means  of  making  his  millions  double  them 
selves  at  other  people's  expense  in  twenty-four  hours." 


Flamsted  Quarries  441 

The  nurse  opened  the  door.  Mrs.  Champney  spoke 
bitterly : 

"You  little  fool  —  you  think  you  know,  but  —  " 
aware  of  the  nurse,  she  ended  fretfully,  "you  wear  me 
out,  talking  so  much.  Tell  Hannah  to  make  me  some 
fresh  tamarind  water  —  and  bring  it  up  quick." 

By  the  time  Aileen  had  brought  up  the  refreshment, 
she  had  half  repented  of  her  words.  Mrs.  Champney 
had  been  failing  perceptibly  the  last  few  weeks,  and  all 
excitement  was  forbidden  her.  For  this  reason  she  had 
been  kept  so  long  in  ignorance  of  Champney's  return. 
As  Aileen  held  the  drinking  tube  to  her  lips,  she  noticed 
that  the  faded  sunken  eyes,  fixed  upon  her  intently, 
were  not  inimical  —  and  she  was  thankful.  She  de 
sired  to  live  in  peace,  if  possible,  with  this  pitiable  old 
age  so  long  as  it  should  last  —  a  few  weeks  at  the  long 
est.  The  lesson  of  the  piece  of  granite  was  not  lost 
upon  her.  She  kept  the  specimen  on  a  little  shelf 
over  her  bed. 

She  went  down  stairs  into  the  library  to  answer  a 
telephone  call;  it  was  from  Maggie  McCann  who 
begged  her  to  come  up  that  afternoon  to  see  her;  the 
matter  was  important  and  could  not  wait.  Aileen  knew 
by  the  pleading  tone  of  the  voice,  which  sounded  un 
natural,  that  she  was  needed  for  something.  She  re 
plied  she  would  go  up  at  once.  She  put  on  her  hat, 
and  while  waiting  for  the  tram  at  The  Bow,  bought  a 
small  bag  of  gumdrops  for  Billy. 

Maggie  received  her  with  open  arms  and  a  gush  of 
tears;  thereupon  Billy,  now  tottering  on  his  unsteady 
feet,  flopped  suddenly  on  the  floor  and  howled  with  true 
Irish  good  will. 

"Why,  Maggie,  what  is  the  matter!"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Och,   Aileen,   darlin',   me  heart  's  in  smithereens, 


442  Flamsted  Quarries 

and  I  'm  that  deep  in  trouble  that  me  head  's  like  to 
rend  —  an'  Jim  's  all  broke  up  — 

"What  is  it;  do  tell  me,  Maggie  —  can  I  help?" 
she  urged,  catching  up  Billy  and  endeavoring  to  smother 
his  howls  with  kisses. 

Mrs.  McCann  wiped  her  reddened  eyes,  took  off  her 
apron  and  sat  down  in  a  low  chair  by  Aileen  who  was 
filling  Billy's  small  mouth,  conveniently  open  for  an 
other  howl  upon  perceiving  his  mother  wipe  her  eyes, 
with  a  sizable  gumdrop. 

"The  little  gells  be  over  to  the  kindergarten  with 
the  Sisters,  an'  I  thought  I  'd  clane  go  out  of  me  mind 
if  I  could  n't  have  a  word  wid  you  before  Jim  gets 
home  —  Och,  Aileen,  dearie,  me  home  I  'm  so  proud 
of  —  "  She  choked,  and  Billy  immediately  repudiated 
his  gumdrop  upon  Aileen's  clean  linen  skirt;  his  eyes 
were  reading  the  signs  of  the  times  in  his  mother's 
face. 

"Now,  Maggie,  dear,  tell  me  all  about  it.  Begin  at 
the  beginning,  and  then  I  '11  know  where  you  're  at." 

Maggie  smiled  faintly.  "  Sure,  I  would  n't  blame  you 
for  not  knowin'  where  I  'm  at."  Mrs.  McCann 
sniffed  several  times  prefatorily. 

"You  know  I  told  you  Jim  had  a  temper,  Aileen  — 

Aileen  nodded  in  assent;  she  was  busy  coaxing  the 
rejected  ball  into  Billy's  puckered  mouth. 

" —  And  that  there  's  times  whin  he  querrels  wid  the 
men  — 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  know  Mr.  Googe  bein'  in  the  same  shed 
an'  section  wid  Jim,  I  says  innercent-like  to  Jim :  — 
'  I  'm  glad  he  's  in  your  section,  Jim,  belike  you  can 
make  it  a  bit  aisier  for  him.' 

"'Aisy  is  it?'  says  Jim. 


Flamsted  Quarries  443 

"'Yes,  aisy,'  says  I. 

" '  An'  wot  wud  I  be  after  makin'  a  job  aisier  for  the 
likes  of  him?'  he  says,  grouchy-like. 

" '  An'  why  not  ? '   says  I. 

" '  For  a  jail-bird  ? '  says  he. 

"'Deed,'  says  I,  'if  yer  own  b'y  had  been  breakin' 
stones  wid  a  gang  of  toughs  for  sivin  long  years  gone, 
would  n't  ye  be  after  likin'  a  man  to  spake  wan  daycint 
word  wid  him?'  says  I. 

"Wid  that  Jim  turned  on  quick-like  an'  says:  — 

"'I'll  thank  ye,  Mrs.  McCann,  to  kape  yer  advice 
to  yerself.  It 's  not  Jim  McCann's  b'y  that  '11  be  doin' 
the  dirthy  job  that  yer  Mr.  Champney  Googe  was  after 
doin'  six  years  gone,  nor  be  after  takin'  the  bread  an' 
butter  out  of  an  honest  man's  mout'  that  has  a  wife  an' 
three  childer  to  feed.  He  's  a  convic','  says  Jim. 

'"  What  if  he  is?'  says  I. 

"'I  don't  hold  wid  no  convic's,'  says  Jim;  'I  hold 
wid  honest  men ;  an'  if  it  's  convic's  be  comin'  to  take 
the  best  piece-work  out  of  our  hands,  it 's  time  we 
struck  —  to  a  man,'  says  Jim. 

"Niver,  niver  but  wanct  has  Jim  called  me  'Mrs. 
McCann,'"  Maggie  said  brokenly,  but  stifled  a  sob  for 
Billy's  sake;  "an'  niver  wanct  has  he  gone  to  work 
widout  kissin'  me  an'  the  childer,  sometimes  twice 
round  —  but  he  went  out  yisterday  an'  niver  turned 
for  wan  look  at  wife  an'  childer ;  an'  me  heart  was  that 
heavy  in  my  bosom  that  me  b'y  refused  the  breast  an' 
cried  like  to  kill  himself  for  wan  mortal  hour,  an'  the 
little  gells  cried  too,  an'  me  bread  burnin'  to  a  crisp,  an' 
I  could  n't  do  wan  thing  but  just  sit  down  wid  me  hands 
full  of  cryin'  childer  —  an'  me  heart  cryin'  like  a  child 
wid  'em." 

Aileen  tried  to  comfort. 


444  Flamsted  Quarries 

"But,  Maggie,  such  things  will  happen  in  the  happi 
est  married  lives,  and  with  the  best  of  husbands.  Jim 
will  get  over  it  —  I  suppose  he  has  by  this  time ;  you 
say  it  is  n't  like  to  him  to  hold  anger  long  —  " 

"But  he  hasn't!"  Maggie  broke  forth  afresh,  and 
between  mother  and  son,  who  immediately  followed 
suit,  a  deluge  threatened.  "Wan  of  the  stone-cutters' 
wives,  Mrs.  MacLoughanchan,  he  works  in  the  same 
section  as  Jim,  told  me  about  it  —  " 

"About  what?"  Aileen  asked,  hoping  to  get  some 
continuity  into  Maggie's  relation  of  her  marital  woes. 

"The  fight  at  the  sheds." 

"What  fight?"  Aileen  put  the  question  with  a 
sickening  fear  at  her  heart. 

"The  fight  betwixt  Jim  an'  Mr.  Googe  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean,  Maggie?" 

"  I  mane  wot  I  say,"  Alaggie  replied  with  some  show 
of  spirit,  for  Aileen's  tone  of  voice  was  peremptory; 
"Jim  McCann,  me  husband,  an'  Mr.  Googe  had 
words  in  the  shed  —  " 

"What  words?" 

"  Just  lave  me  time  an'  I  '11  tell  you,  Aileen.  You  be 
after  catchin'  me  short  up  betwixt  ivery  word,  an'  more 
be  token  as  if  't  was  your  own  man,  instid  of  mine,  ye 
was  worrittin'  about.  I  said  they  had  words,  but  by 
rights  I  should  say  it  was  Jim  as  had  them.  Jim  was 
mad  because  the  boss  in  Shed  Number  Two  give  Mr. 
Googe  a  piece  of  work  he  had  been  savin'  an'  promisin' 
him;  an'  Jim  made  a  fuss  about  it,  an'  the  boss  said 
he  'd  give  Jim  another,  but  Jim  wanted  that  wan  piece; 
an'  Jim  threatened  to  get  up  a  strike,  an'  if  there  's  a 
strike  Jim  '11  lave  the  place  an'  I  '11  lose  me  home  - 
ochone  —  " 

"Go  on,  Maggie."     Aileen  was  trying  to  anticipate 


Flamsted  Quarries  445 

Maggie's  tale,  and  in  anticipation  of  the  worst  happen 
ing  to  Champney  Googe,  she  lost  her  patience.  She 
could  not  bear  the  suspense. 

"But  Jim  didn't  sass  the  boss  —  he  sassed  Mr. 
Googe.  'T  was  this  way,  so  Mrs.  MacLoughanchan 
says  —  Jim  said  niver  a  word  about  the  fight  to  me,  but 
he  said  he  would  lave  the  place  if  they  did  n't  strike  — 
Mr.  Googe  says,  '  McCann,  the  foreman  says  you  're 
to  begin  on  the  two  keystones  at  wanct  —  at  wanct,' 
says  he,  repating  it  because  Jim  said  niver  a  word.  An' 
Jim  fires  up  an'  says  under  his  breath : 

'"I  don't  take  no  orders  from  convic's,'  says  he. 

'"What  did  you  say,  McCann?'  says  Mr.  Googe, 
steppin'  up  to  him  wid  a  glint  in  his  eye  that  Jim  did  n't 
mind  he  was  so  mad;  an'  instid  of  repatin'  it  quiet- 
like,  Jim  says,  steppin'  outside  the  shed  when  he  see 
the  boss  an'  Mr.  Googe  followin'  him,  loud  enough  for 
the  whole  shed  to  hear: 

"'I  don't  take  orders  from  no  convic's — '  an'  then 
— "  Maggie  laid  her  hand  suddenly  over  her  heart 
as  if  in  pain,  '"Take  that  back,  McCann,'  says  Mr. 
Googe  —  'I'll  give  you  the  wan  chanct.'  —  An'  then 
Jim  swore  an'  said  he  'd  see  him  an'  himself  in  hell 
first,  an'  then,  before  Jim  knew  wot  happened, 
Mr.  Googe  lit  out  wid  his  fist  —  an'  Jim  layin' 
out  on  the  grass,  for  Mrs.  MacLoughanchan  says 
her  man  said  Mr.  Googe  picked  a  soft  place  to  drop 
him  in ;  an'  Mr.  Googe  helps  Jim  to  his  feet,  an'  holds 
out  his  hand  an'  says: 

"'Shake  hands,  McCann,  an'  we  '11  start  afresh  — 

"But,  oh,  Aileen!  Jim  wouldn't,  an'  Mr.  Googe 
turned  away  sad-like,  an'  then  Jim  comes  home,  an'  wid- 
out  a  word  to  his  wife,  says  if  they  don't  strike,  because 
there  's  a  convic'  an'  a  no  union  man  a-workin'  'longside 


446  Flamsted  Quarries 

of  him  in  his  section,  he  '11  lave  an'  give  up  his  job  here 
—  an'  it  's  two  hundred  he  's  paid  down  out  of  his 
wages,  an'  me  a-savin'  from  morn  till  night  on  me 
home  —  an'  't  was  to  be  me  very  own  because  Jim  says 
no  man  alive  can  tell  when  he  '11  be  dead  in  the  quar 
ries  an'  the  sheds." 

She  wrept  afresh  and  Billy  was  left  unconsoled,  for 
Maggie,  wiping  her  eyes  to  look  at  Aileen  and  wonder 
at  her  silence,  saw  that  she,  too,  was  weeping ;  but  the 
tears  rolled  silently  one  after  another  down  her  flushed 
cheeks. 

"  Och,  Aileen,  darlin' !  Don't  ye  cry  wid  me  —  me 
burden  's  heavy  enough  \vidout  the  wreight  of  wan  of 
your  tears  —  say  something  to  comfort  me  heart  about 
Jim." 

"I  can't,  Maggie,  I  think  it  's  wicked  for  Jim  to  say 
such  things  to  Mr.  Googe  —  everybody  knows  wrhat  he 
has  been  through.  And  it  \vould  serve  Jim  McCann 
but  right,"  she  added  hotly,  "if  the  time  should  come 
when  his  Billy  should  have  the  same  cruel  words  said  to 
him  —  " 

"  Don't  —  don't  —  for  the  love  of  the  Mother  of 
God,  don't  say  such  things,  Aileen!"  She  caught  up 
the  sorely  perplexed  and  troubled  Billy,  and  buried  her 
face  in  his  red  curls.  "Don't  for  the  sake  of  the 
mother  I  am,  an'  only  a  mother  can  know  how  the 
Mother  of  God  himself  felt  wid  her  crucified  Son  an' 
the  bitter  words  he  had  to  hear  —  ye  're  not  a  mother, 
Aileen,  an'  so  I  won't  lay  it  up  too  much  against 
ye-" 

Aileen  interrupted  her  with  exceeding  bitterness; 

"  No,  I  'm  not  a  mother,  Maggie,  and  I  never  shall 
be." 

Maggie  looked  at  her  in  absolute  incomprehension. 


Flamsted  Quarries  447 

"I  thought  you  was  cryin'  for  me,  an'  Jim,  an'  all  our 
prisent  troubles,  but  I  belave  yer  cryin'  for  —  " 

Mrs.  McCann  stopped  short;  she  was  still  staring  at 
Aileen  who  suddenly  lifted  her  brimming  eyes  to  hers. 
—  What  Mrs.  McCann  read  therein  she  never  accu 
rately  defined,  even  to  Jim;  but,  whatever  it  was,  it 
caused  a  revulsion  of  feeling  in  Maggie's  sorely  bruised 
heart.  She  set  Billy  down  on  the  floor  without  any  cere 
mony,  much  to  that  little  man's  surprise,  and  throwing 
her  arms  around  Aileen  drew  her  close  with  a  truly 
maternal  caress. 

"  Och,  darlin'  —  darlin'  —  "  she  said  in  the  voice 
with  which  she  soothed  Billy  to  sleep,  "darlin'  Aileen, 
an'  has  your  puir  heart  been  bearin'  this  all  alone,  an' 
me  talkin'  an'  pratin'  about  me  Jim  to  ye,  an'  how 
beautiful  it  is  to  be  married !  —  'Deed  an'  it  is,  darlin', 
an'  if  Jim  was  n't  a  man  he  'd  be  an  angel  sure ;  but 
it 's  not  Maggie  McCann  that 's  wantin'  her  husband 
to  be  an  angel  yet,  an'  you  must  just  forgive  him, 
Aileen,  an'  you  '11  find  yerself  that  no  man  's  parfection, 
an'  a  woman  has  to  be  after  takin'  thim  as  they  be  — • 
lovin'  an'  gentle  be  times,  an'  cross  as  Cain  whin  yer 
expectin'  thim  to  be  swateheartin'  wid  ye;  an'  wake 
when  ye  think  they  're  after  bein'  rale  giants ;  an' 
strong  whin  ye  're  least  lookin'  for  it ;  an  ginerous  by 
spells  an'  spendthrifts  wid  their  'baccy,  an'  skinflints 
wid  their  own,  an'  —  an'  —  just  common,  downright 
aggravating  lovable  men,  darlin'  —  There  now !  Yer 
smilin'  again  like  me  old  Aileen,  an'  bad  cess  to  the 
wan  that  draws  another  tear  from  your  swate  Irish 
eyes."  She  kissed  her  heartily. 

In  trying  to  make  amends  Mrs.  McCann  forgot  her 
own  woes;  taking  Billy  in  her  arms,  she  went  to  the 
stove  and  set  on  the  kettle. 


448  Flamsted  Quarries 

"It's  four  past,  an'  Jim '11  be  comin'  in  tired  and 
worritted,  so  I  '11  put  on  an  extra  potater  or  two  an'  a 
good  bit  of  bacon  an'  some  pase.  Stay  wid  us,  Aileen." 

"No,  Maggie,  I  can't;  besides  you  and  Jim  will 
want  the  house  to  yourself  till  you  get  straightened  out 
—  and,  Maggie,  it  will  straighten  out,  don't  you  worry." 

"'Deed,  an'  I  '11  not  waste  me  breath  another  time 
tellin'  me  troubles  to  a  heart  that 's  sorer  than  me  own — 
good-bye,  darlin,'  an'  me  best  thanks  for  comin'  up  so 
prompt  to  me  in  me  trouble.  It  's  good  to  have  a  friend, 
Aileen,  an'  we  've  been  friendly  that  long  that  it  seems 
as  if  me  own  burden  must  be  yours." 

Aileen  smiled,  leaning  to  kiss  Billy  as  he  clung  to  his 
mother's  neck. 

"I  '11  come  up  whenever  you  want  me  and  I  can  get 
away,  Maggie,  an'  next  time  I  '11  bring  you  more  com 
fort,  I  hope.  Good-bye." 

"  Och,  darlin' !  —  T'row  a  kiss,  Billy.  Look,  Aileen, 
at  the  kisses  me  b'y  's  t'rowin'  yer !"  she  exclaimed  de 
lightedly;  and  Billy,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  joy  that 
tears  were  things  of  the  past,  continued  to  throw  kisses 
after  the  lady  till  she  disappeared  down  the  street. 


IX 

OH,  but  her  heart  was  hot  with  indignation  as 
she  walked  along  the  road,  her  eyes  were 
stung  with  scalding  tears,  her  thoughts  tur 
bulent  and  rebellious !  Why  must  he  suffer  such  in 
dignities  from  a  man  like  Jim  McCann !  How  dared 
a  man,  that  was  a  man,  taunt  another  like  that !  The 
hand  holding  her  sun  umbrella  gripped  the  handle 
tightly,  and  through  set  teeth  she  said  to  herself:  "I 
hate  them  all  —  hate  them!" 

The  declining  July  sun  was  hot  upon  her;  the  road 
bed,  gleaming  white  with  granite  dust,  blinded  her.  She 
looked  about  for  some  shelter  where  she  could  wait  for 
the  down  car;  there  was  none  in  sight,  except  the  pines 
over  by  Father  Honore's  and  the  sisterhood  house  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  beyond.  She  continued  to  stand  there 
in  the  glare  and  the  heat  —  miserable,  dejected,  rebel 
lious,  until  the  tram  halted  for  her.  The  car  was  an 
open  one;  there  was  no  other  occupant.  As  it  sped 
down  the  curving  road  to  the  lake  shore,  the  breeze, 
created  by  its  movement,  was  more  than  grateful  to  her. 
She  took  off  her  shade-hat  to  enjoy  the  full  benefit  of  it. 

At  the  switch,  half  way  down,  the  tram  waited  for 
the  up  car.  She  could  hear  it  coming  from  afar;  the 
overhead  wires  vibrated  to  the  extra  power  needed  on 
the  steep  grade.  It  came  in  sight,  crowded  with  work 
men  on  their  way  home  to  Quarry  End ;  the  rear  plat 
form  was  black  with  them.  It  passed  over  the  switch 
slowly,  passed  within  two  feet  of  her  seat.  She  turned 


45°  Flamsted  Quarries 

to  look  at  it,  wondering  at  its  capacity  for  so  many  — 
and  looked,  instead,  directly  into  the  face  of  Champ- 
ney  Googe  who  stood  on  the  lower  step,  his  dinner- 
pail  on  his  arm,  the  arm  thrust  through  the  guard. 

At  sight  of  her,  so  near  him  that  the  breath  of  each 
might  have  been  felt  on  the  cheek  of  the  other,  he 
raised  his  workman's  cap  — 

She  saw  the  gray  head,  the  sudden  pallor  on  brow 
and  cheek,  the  deep,  slightly  sunken  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  as  if  on  her  next  move  hung  the  owner's  hope  of 
eternal  life  —  the  eyes  moved  with  the  slowly  moving 
car  to  focus  her.  .  .  . 

To  Aileen  Armagh  that  face,  changed  as  it  was,  was 
a  glimpse  of  heaven  on  earth,  and  that  heaven  was  re 
flected  in  the  smile  with  which  she  greeted  it.  She  did 
more :  —  unheeding  the  many  faces  that  were  turned 
towards  her,  she  leaned  from  the  car,  her  eyes  follow 
ing  him,  the  love-light  still  radiating  from  her  every 
feature,  till  he  was  carried  beyond  sight  around  the 
curving  base  of  the  Flamsted  Hills. 

She  heard  nothing  more  externally,  saw  nothing 
more,  until  she  found  herself  at  The  Corners  instead 
of  The  Bow.  The  tumult  within  her  rendered  her 
deaf  to  the  clanging  of  the  electric  gong,  blind  to  the 
people  who  had  entered  along  Main  Street.  Love, 
and  love  alone,  was  ringing  its  joy-bells  in  her  soul 
till  external  sounds  grew  muffled,  indistinct;  until 
she  became  unaware  of  her  surroundings.  Love  was 
knocking  so  loudly  at  her  heart  that  the  bounding 
blood  pulsed  rhythmic  in  her  ears.  Love  was  claim 
ing  her  wholly,  possessing  her  soul  and  body  —  but 
no  longer  that  idealizing  love  of  her  young  girlhood 
and  womanhood.  Rather  it  was  that  love  which  is 
akin  to  the  divine  rapture  of  maternity  —  the  love 


Flamsted  Quarries  451 

that  gives  all,  that  sacrifices  all,  which  demands  nothing 
of  the  loved  one  save  to  love,  to  shield,  to  comfort  —  the 
love  that  makes  of  a  true  woman's  breast  not  only  a 
rest  whereon  a  man,  as  well  as  his  babe,  may  pillow 
a  weary  head,  but  a  round  tower  of  strength  within 
which  there  beats  a  heart  of  high  courage  for  him  who 
goes  forth  to  the  daily  battlefield  of  Life. 

She  rode  back  to  The  Bow.  Hannah  called  to  her 
from  the  kitchen  door  wThen  she  saw  her  coming  up 
the  driveway: 

"  Come  round  here  a  minute,  Aileen." 

"What  is  it,  Hannah?"  Her  voice  trembled  in  spite 
of  her  effort  to  speak  naturally.  She  prayed  Hannah 
might  not  notice. 

"Here's  a  little  broth  I've  made  for  Uncle  Jo 
Quimber.  I  heard  he  was  n't  very  well,  and  I  wish 
you  'd  take  this  down  to  him  before  supper.  Tell  him 
it  won't  hurt  him  and  it 's  real  strengthenin'." 

"I  will  go  now,  and  —  Hannah,  don't  mind  if  I 
don't  come  home  to  supper  to-night;  I  'm  not  hungry; 
it 's  too  hot  to  eat.  If  I  want  anything,  I  '11  get  a  glass 
of  milk  in  the  pantry  afterwards.  If  Mrs.  Champney 
should  want  me,  tell  Octavius  he  '11  find  me  down  by 
the  boat  house." 

"Mis'  Champney  ain't  so  well,  to-night;  the  nurse 
says.  "I  guess  it 's  this  heat  is  telling  on  her." 

"I  should  think  it  would  —  even  I  feel  it."  She  was 
off  again  down  the  driveway,  glad  to  be  moving,  for  a 
strange  restlessness  was  upon  her. 

She  found  Joel  Quimber  sitting  in  his  arm  chair  on 
the  back  porch  of  the  little  house  belonging  to  his  grand- 
niece.  The  old  man  looked  feeble,  exhausted  and 
white;  but  his  eyes  brightened  on  seeing  Aileen  come 
round  the  corner  of  the  porch. 


45 2  Flamsted  Quarries 

"What  you  got  there,  Aileen?" 

"  Something  good  for  you,  Uncle  Jo.  Hannah  made 
it  for  you  on  purpose."  She  showed  him  the  broth. 

"Hannah  's  a  good  soul,  I  thank  her  kindly.  Set 
down,  Aileen,  set  down." 

"I  'm  afraid  you  're  too  tired  to  have  company  to 
night,  Uncle  Jo." 

"Lord,  no  —  you  ain't  comp'ny,  Aileen,  an'  I  ain't 
never  too  tired  to  have  your  comp'ny  either." 

She  smiled  and  took  her  seat  on  the  lower  step,  at  his 
feet. 

"  Jest  thinkin'  of  you,  Aileen  —  ' 

"Me,  Uncle  Jo?    What  put  me  into  your  head?" 

"  You  're  in  a  good  part  of  the  time  ef  you  did  but 
know  it." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jo,  did  they  teach  you  how  to  flatter  like 
that  in  the  little  old  schoolhouse  you  showed  me  years 
ago  at  The  Corners?" 

Old  Joel  Quimber  chuckled  weakly. 

"  No  —  not  thar.  A  man,  ef  he  's  any  kind  of  a  man, 
don't  have  to  learn  his  a-b-c  before  he  can  tell  a  good- 
lookin'  gal  she  's  in  his  head,  or  his  heart  —  jest  which 
you  're  a  min'  ter  —  most  of  the  time.  Yes,  I  was 
thinkin'  of  you,  Aileen  —  you  an'  Champney." 

The  color  died  out  entirely  from  Aileen's  cheeks,  and 
then  surged  into  them  again  till  she  put  her  hands  to 
her  face  to  cool  their  throbbing.  She  was  wondering 
if  Love  had  entered  into  some  conspiracy  with  Fate 
to-day  to  keep  this  beloved  name  ever  in  her  ears. 

"What  about  me  and  Mr.  Googe?"  She  spoke  in  a 
low  tone,  her  face  was  turned  away  from  the  old  man 
to  the  meadows  and  the  sheds  in  the  distance. 

"  I  was  a-thinkin'  of  this  time  fourteen  year  ago  this 
very  month.  Champ  an'  me  was  walkin'  up  an'  down 


Flamsted  Quarries  453 

the  street,  an'  he  was  tellin'  me  'bout  that  serenade,  an' 
how  you  'd  give  him  a  rosebud  with  pepper  in  "*it  - 
Lord,  Aileen,  you  was  a  case,  an'  no  mistake !  An' 
I  was  thinkin',  too,  what  Champ  said  to  me  thet  very 
night.  He  was  tellin'  'bout  thet  great  hell-gate  of  New 
York,  an'  he  said,  '  You  've  got  to  swim  with  the  rest 
or  you  'd  go  under,  Uncle  Jo,'  —  'go  under,'  them  's  his 
very  words.  An'  I  said,  'Like  enough  you  would, 
Champ  —  I  ain't  ben  thar  — 

He  paused  a  moment,  shuffled  out  his  handkerchief 
and  wiped  his  eyes.  Then  he  spoke  again,  but  in  so 
low  a  tone  that  Aileen  could  barely  catch  the  words : 

"  An'  he  went  under,  Champ  did  —  went  under  — 

Aileen  felt,  without  seeing,  for  her  face  was  still 
turned  to  the  meadows  and  the  sheds,  that  the  old  man 
was  leaning  to  her.  Then  she  heard  his  voice  in  her 
ear: 

"Hev  you  seen  him?" 

"Once",  Uncle  Jo." 

"You  're  his  friend,  ain't  you,  Aileen?" 

"Yes."     Her  voice  trembled. 

"  Guess  we  're  all  his  friends  in  Flamsted  —  I  heered 
they  fit  in  the  shed,  Champ  an'  Jim  McCann  —  it 
hadn't  ought  'a'-ben,  Aileen  —  hadn't  ought  'a'-ben; 
but  't  warn't  Champ's  fault,  you  may  bet  your  life  on 
thet.  Champ  went  under,  but  he  did  n't  stay  under  — 
you  remember  thet,  Aileen.  An'  I  can't  nowise  blame 
him,  now  he  's  got  his  head  above  water  agin,  for  not 
stan'in'  it  to  have  a  man  like  McCann  heave  a  stone  at 
him  jest  ez  he  's  makin'  for  shore.  'T  ain't  right,  an' 
the  old  Judge  use  ter  say,  'What  ain't  right  hadn't 
ought  ter  be.'  " 

He  waited  a  while  to  regain  his  scant  breath ;  the  long 
speech  had  exhausted  it.  At  last  he  chuckled  weakly 


454  Flamsted  Quarries 

to  himself,  "Champ  's  a  devil  of  a  feller  —  "  he  caught 
up  his  words  as  if  he  were  saying  too  much;  laid  his 
hand  on  Aileen's  head ;  turned  her  face  half  round  to 
his  and,  leaning,  whispered  again  in  her  ear: 

"Don't  you  go  back  on  Champ,  promise  me  thet, 
Aileen." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  laid  her  hand  in  his. 

"I  promise,  Uncle  Jo." 

"Thet 's  a  good  girl."  He  laid  his  other  hand  over 
hers.  "You  stick  by  Champ  an'  stick  up  for  him  too; 
he  's  good  blood,  an'  ef  he  did  go  under  for  a  spell,  he 
ain't  no  worse  'n  the  rest,  nor  half  ez  bad ;  for  Champ 
went  in  of  his  own  accord  —  of  his  own  accord,"  he  re 
peated  significantly,  "an'  don't  you  forget  thet,  Aileen! 
Thet  takes  grit ;  mebbe  you  would  n't  think  so,  but  it 
does.  Champ  makes  me  think  of  them  divers,  I  've 
read  an'  heerd  about,  thet  dives  for  pearls.  Some  on 
'em  conies  up  all  right,  but  some  of  'em  go  under  for 
good  an'  all.  Champ  dove  mighty  deep  —  he  was 
diving  for  money,  which  he  figured  was  his  pearl, 
Aileen  —  an'  he  most  went  under  for  good  an'  all 
without  gettin'  what  he  wanted,  an'  now  he  's  come  to 
the  surface  agin,  it 's  all  ben  wuth  it  —  he  's  got  the 
pearl,  Aileen,  but  t'  ain't  the  one  he  expected  to  get  — 
he  told  me  so  t'  other  night.  We  set  here  him  an'  me, 
an'  understan'  one  'nother  even  when  we  don't  talk  — 
jest  set  an'  smoke  an'  puff- 

"What  pearl  is  it,  Uncle  Jo?"  She  whispered  her 
question,  half  fearing,  but  wholly  longing  to  hear  the 
old  man's  answer. 

"  Guess  he  '11  tell  you  himself  sometime,  Aileen." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair;  he  was  tired.  Aileen 
stooped  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

"Good  night,  Uncle  Jo,"  she  said  softly,  "an'  don't 


Flamsted  Quarries  455 

forget  Hannah's  broth  or  there  '11  be  trouble  at 
Champo." 

He  roused  himself  again. 

"I  heered  from  Tave  to-day  thet  Mis'  Champney  is 
pretty  low." 

"Yes,  she  feels  this  heat  in  her  condition." 

"Like  enough  —  like  enough;  guess  we  all  do  a 
little."  Then  he  seemed  to  speak  to  himself:  —  "She 
was  rough  on  Champ,"  he  murmured. 

Aileen  left  him  with  that  name  on  his  lips. 

On  her  return  to  Champ-au-Haut,  she  went  down 
to  the  boat  house  to  sit  a  while  in  its  shade.  The  sur 
face  of  the  lake  was  motionless,  but  the  reflection  of 
the  surrounding  heights  and  shores  was  slightly  veiled, 
owing  to  the  heat-haze  that  quivered  above  it. 

Aileen  was  reliving  the  experience  of  the  last  seven 
years,  the  consummation  of  which  was  the  knowledge 
that  Champney  Googe  loved  her.  She  was  sure  of  this 
now.  She  had  felt  it  intuitively  during  the  twilight 
horror  of  that  October  day  in  The  Gore.  But  how, 
when,  where  would  he  speak  the  releasing  word  —  the 
supreme  word  of  love  that  alone  could  atone,  that  alone 
could  set  her  free  ?  Would  he  ever  speak  it  ?  — could  he, 
after  that  avowal  of  the  unreasoning  passion  for  her 
which  had  taken  possession  of  him  seven  years  ago? 
And,  moreover,  what  had  not  that  avowal  and  its  ex 
pression  done  to  her? 

Her  cheek  paled  at  the  thought :  —  he  had  kissed 
love  into  her  for  all  time;  and  during  all  his  years  of 
imprisonment  she  had  been  held  in  thrall,  as  it  were, 
to  him  and  to  his  memory.  All  her  rebellion  at  such 
thraldom,  all  her  disgust  at  her  weakness,  as  she 
termed  it,  all  her  hatred,  engendered  by  the  unpalat 
able  method  he  had  used  to  enthrall  her,  all  her 


456  Flamsted  Quarries 

struggle  to  forget,  to  live  again  her  life  free  of  any  en 
tanglement  with  Champney  Googe,  all  her  endeavors 
to  care  for  other  men,  had  availed  her  naught.  Love 
she  must  —  and  Champney  Googe  remained  the  ob 
ject  of  that  love.  Father  Honore's  words  gave  her 
courage  to  live  on  —  loving. 

"Champney  —  Champney,"  she  said  low  to  herself. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  The  mere  tak 
ing  of  his  name  on  her  lips  eased  the  exaltation  of  her 
mood.  She  rejoiced  that  she  had  been  able  that  after 
noon  to  show  him  how  it  stood  with  her  after  these 
many  years;  for  the  look  in  his  eyes,  when  he  recog 
nized  her,  told  her  that  she  alone  could  hold  to  his  lips 
the  cup  that  should  quench  his  thirst.  Oh,  she  would 
be  to  him  what  no  other  woman  could  ever  have  been, 
ever  could  be  —  no  other !  She  knew  this.  He  knew  it. 
When,  oh,  when  would  the  word  be  spoken? 

She  withdrew  her  hands  from  her  face,  and  looked 
up  the  lake  to  the  sheds.  The  sun  was  nearing  the 
horizon,  and  against  its  clear  red  light  the  gray  build 
ings  loomed  large  and  dark.  —  And  there  was  his 
place ! 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  ready  to  act  upon  a  sudden 
thought.  If  she  were  not  needed  at  the  house,  she 
would  go  up  to  the  sheds;  perhaps  she  could  walk  off 
the  restlessness  that  kept  urging  her  to  action.  At  any 
rate,  she  could  find  comfort  in  thinking  of  his  presence 
there  during  the  day;  she  would  be  for  a  time,  at  least, 
in  his  environment.  She  knew  Jim  McCann's  section; 
she  and  Maggie  had  been  there  more  than  once  to  watch 
the  progress  of  some  great  work. 

On  the  way  up  to  the  house  she  met  Octavius. 

"Where  you  going,  Aileen?" 

"Up  to  the  house  to  see  if  I  'm  needed.    If  they  don't 


Flamsted  Quarries  457 

want  me,  I  'm  going  up  to  the  sheds  for  a  walk.  They 
say  they  look  like  cathedrals  this  week,  so  many  of  the 
arches  and  pillars  are  ready  to  be  shipped." 

" There's  no  need  of  your  going  up  to  the  house. 
Mis'  Champney  ain't  so  well,  and  the  nurse  says  she 
give  orders  for  no  one  to  come  nigh  her  —  for  she  's 
sent  for  Father  Honore." 

"Father  Honore!  What  can  she  want  of  him?" 
she  asked  in  genuine  surprise.  "He  hasn't  been  here 
for  over  a  year." 

"Well,  anyway,  I  've  got  my  orders  to  fetch  Father 
Honore,  and  I  was  just  asking  Hannah  where  you  were. 
I  thought  you  might  like  to  ride  up  with  me ;  I  've  har 
nessed  up  in  the  surrey." 

"I  won't  drive  way  up,  Tave;  but  I  'd  like  you  to 
put  me  down  at  the  sheds.  Maggie  says  it 's  really 
beautiful  now  in  Shed  Number  Two.  While  I  'm  wait 
ing  for  you,  I  can  nose  round  all  I  want  to  and  you  can 
pick  me  up  there  on  your  way  back.  Just  wait  till  I 
run  up  to  the  house  to  see  the  nurse  myself,  will  you?" 
Octavius  nodded. 

She  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  terrace,  and  on  her 
return  found  Octavius  with  the  surrey  at  the  front 
door. 

Aileen  was  silent  during  the  first  part  of  the  drive. 
This  was  unusual  when  the  two  were  together,  and, 
after  waiting  a  while,  Octavius  spoke: 

"I'm  wondering  what  she  wants  to  see  Father 
Honor^  for." 

"I  'd  like  to  know  myself." 

"  It 's  got  into  my  head,  and  somehow  I  can't  get  it 
out,  that  it 's  something  to  do  with  Champney  — 

"  Champney  !  -  "  the  name  slipped  unawares  through 
the  red  barrier  of  her  lips;  she  bit  them  in  vexation  at 


458  Flamsted  Quarries 

their  betrayal  of  her  thought  —  "you  mean  Champney 
Googe?"  She  tried  to  speak  indifferently. 

"Who  else  should  I  mean?"  Octavius  answered 
shortly.  Aileen's  ways  at  times,  especially  during  these 
last  few  years  when  Champney  Googe's  name  hap 
pened  to  be  mentioned  in  her  presence,  were  irritating 
in  the  extreme  to  the  faithful  factotum  at  Champ-au- 
Haut. 

"I  wish,  Aileen,  you  'd  get  over  your  grudge  against 
him  —  " 

"What  grudge?" 

"  You  can  tell  that  best  yourself  —  there  's  no  use 
your  playing  off  —  I  don't  pretend  to  know  anything 
about  it,  but  I  can  put  my  finger  on  the  very  year  and 
the  very  month  you  turned  against  Champney  Googe 
who  never  had  anything  but  a  pleasant  word  for  you 
ever  since  you  was  so  high  —  "  he  indicated  a  few  feet 
on  his  whipstock  — "  and  first  come  to  Champo. 
'T  ain't  generous,  Aileen ;  't  ain't  like  a  true  woman ; 
't  ain't  like  you  to  go  back  on  a  man  just  because  he 
has  sinned.  He  stands  in  need  of  us  all  now,  although 
they  say  at  the  sheds  he  can  hold  his  own  with  the  best 
of  'em  —  I  heard  the  manager  telling  Emlie  he  'd  be 
foreman  of  Shed  Number  Two  if  he  kept  on,  for  he  's 
the  only  one  can  get  on  with  all  of  the  foreigners; 
guess  Jim  McCann  knows  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  year  and  the  month?" 

"  I  mean  what  I  say.  'T  was  in  August  seven  years 
ago  —  but  p'r'aps  you  don't  remember,"  he  said.  His 
sarcasm  was  intentional. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  smiled  to  herself  —  a  smile  so 
exasperating  to  Octavius  that  he  sulked  a  few  minutes 
in  silence.  After  another  eighth  of  a  mile,  she  spoke 
with  apparent  interest: 


Flamsted  Quarries  459 

"What  makes  you  think  Mrs.  Champney  wants  to 
see  Father  Honore  about  her  nephew?" 

"Because  it  looks  that  way.  This  afternoon,  when 
you  was  out,  she  got  me  to  move  Mr.  Louis'  picture 
from  the  library  to  her  room,  and  I  had  to  hang  it  on 
the  wall  opposite  her  bed  —  "  Octavius  paused  —  "I 
believe  she  don't  think  she  '11  last  long,  and  she  don't 
look  as  if  she  could  either.  Last  week  she  had  Emlie  up 
putting  a  codicil  to  her  will.  The  nurse  told  me  she 
was  one  of  the  witnesses,  she  and  Emlie  and  the  doc 
tor —  catch  her  letting  me  see  any  of  her  papers!" 
He  reined  into  the  road  that  led  to  the  sheds. 

"I  hope  to  God  she  '11  do  him  justice  this  time,"  he 
spoke  aloud,  but  evidently  to  himself. 

"How  do  you  mean,  Tave?" 

"  I  mean  by  giving  him  what 's  his  by  rights ;  that 's 
what  I  mean."  He  spoke  emphatically. 

"  He  would  n't  be  the  man  I  think  he  is  if  he  ever 
took  a  cent  from  her  —  not  after  what  she  did!"  she 
exclaimed  hotly. 

Octavius  turned  and  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"That 's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  you  speak  up  for 
Champney  Googe,  an'  I  've  known  you  since  before 
you  knew  him.  Well,  it 's  better  late  than  never."  He 
spoke  with  a  degree  of  satisfaction  in  his  tone  that 
did  not  escape  Aileen.  "  Which  door  shall  I  leave 
you  at?" 

"Round  at  the  west  —  there  are  some  people  coming 
out  now  —  here  we  are.  You  '11  find  me  here  when  you 
come  back." 

"I  shall  be  back  within  a  half  an  hour;  I  telephoned 
Father  Honore  I  was  coming  up  —  you  're  sure  you 
don't  mind  waiting  here  alone  ?  I  '11  get  back  before 
dusk." 


460  Flamsted  Quarries 

"What  should  I  be  afraid  of?  I  won't  let  the  stones 
fall  on  me !" 

She  sprang  to  the  ground.  Octavius  turned  the 
horse  and  drove  off. 

On  entering  the  shed  she  caught  her  breath  in  ad 
miration.  The  level  rays  of  the  July  sun  shone  into 
the  gray  interior  illumining  the  farthest  corners.  Their 
glowing  crimson  flushed  the  granite  to  a  scarcely  per 
ceptible  rose.  Portions  of  the  noble  arches,  parts  of 
the  architrave,  sculptured  cornice  and  keystone,  drums, 
pediments  and  capitals,  stone  mullions,  here  and  there 
a  huge  monolith,  caught  the  ethereal  flush  and  trans 
formed  Shed  Number  Two  into  a  temple  of  beauty. 

She  sought  the  section  near  the  doors,  where  Jim 
McCann  worked,  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  granite 
blocks  —  perhaps  the  very  one  on  which  he  was  at  wrork. 
The  fancy  was  a  pleasing  one.  Now  and  then  she  laid 
her  hand  caressingly  on  the  cool  stone  and  smiled  to 
herself.  Some  men  and  women  were  looking  at  the 
huge  Macdonald  machine  over  in  the  farthermost 
corner ;  one  by  one  they  passed  out  at  the  east  door  — 
at  last  she  was  alone  with  her  loving  thoughts  in  this 
cool  sanctuary  of  industry. 

She  noticed  a  chisel  lying  behind  the  stone  on  which 
she  sat;  she  turned  and  picked  it  up.  She  looked 
about  for  a  hammer;  she  wanted  to  try  her  puny 
strength  on  what  Champney  Googe  manipulated  with 
muscles  hardened  by  years  of  breaking  stones  —  that 
thought  was  no  longer  a  nightmare  to  her  —  but  she 
saw  none.  The  sun  sank  below  the  horizon ;  the  after 
glow  promised  to  be  both  long  and  beautiful.  After  a 
time  she  looked  out  across  the  meadows  —  a  man  was 
crossing  them;  evidently  he  had  just  left  the  tram,  for 


Flamsted  Quarries  461 

she  heard  the  buzzing  of  the  wires  in  the  still  air.    He 
was   coming   towards   the   sheds.     His   form   showed 
black  against   the  western  sky.     Another  moment  — 
and  Aileen  knew  him  to  be  Champney  Googe. 

She  sat  there  motionless,  the  chisel  in  her  hand,  her 
face  turned  to  the  west  and  the  man  rapidly  approach 
ing  Shed  Number  Two  —  a  moment  more,  he  was 
within  the  doors,  and,  evidently  in  haste,  sought  his 
section;  then  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time.  He 
stopped  short.  There  was  a  cry: 

"Aileen  —  Aileen—  " 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  With  one  stride  he  stood  be 
fore  her,  leaning  to  look  long  into  her  eyes  which  never 
wavered  while  he  read  in  them  her  woman's  fealty  to 
her  love  for  him. 

He  held  out  his  hands,  and  she  placed  hers  within 
them.  He  spoke,  and  the  voice  was  a  prayer : 

"My  wife,  Aileen  —  " 

"  My  husband  —  "  she  answered,  and  the  words  were 
a  Te  Deum. 


X 

OCTAVIUS  drew  up  near  the  shed  and  handed 
the  reins  to  Father  Honore*. 
"If  you  '11  just  hold  the  mare  a  minute,  I  '11 
step  inside  and  look  for  Aileen." 

He  disappeared  in  the  darkening  entrance,  but  was 
back  again  almost  immediately.  Father  Honore  saw 
at  once  from  his  face  that  something  unusual  had 
taken  place.  He  feared  an  accident. 

"Is  Aileen  all  right?"    he  asked  anxiously. 

Octavius  nodded.  He  got  into  the  surrey ;  the  hands 
that  took  the  reins  shook  visibly.  He  drove  on  in  silence 
for  a  few  minutes.  He  was  struggling  for  control  of 
his  emotion ;  for  the  truth  is  Octavius  wanted  to  cry ; 
and  when  a  man  wants  to  cry  and  must  not,  the 
result  is  inarticulateness  and  a  painful  contortion  of 
every  feature.  Father  Honore,  recognizing  this  fact, 
waited.  Octavius  swallowed  hard  and  many  times 
before  he  could  speak;  even  then  his  speech  was 
broken : 

"  She  's  in  there  —  all  right  —  but  Champney  Googe 
is  with  her  —  " 

"Thank  God!" 

Father  Honore's  voice  rang  out  with  no  uncertain 
sound.  It  was  a  heartening  thing  to  hear,  and  helped 
powerfully  to  restore  to  Octavius  his  usual  poise.  He 
turned  to  look  at  his  companion  and  saw  every  feature 
alive  with  a  great  joy.  Suddenly  the  scales  fell  from 
this  man  of  Maine's  eyes. 


Flamsted  Quarries  463 

"You  don't  mean  it!"   he  exclaimed  in  amazement. 

" Oh,  but  I  do"  replied  Father  Honore  joyfully  and 
emphatically.  .  .  . 

"Father  Honore,"  he  said  after  a  time  in  which  both 
men  were  busy  with  their  thoughts,  "I  ain't  much  on 
expressing  what  I  feel,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  —  for 
you  '11  understand  —  that  when  I  come  out  of  that  shed 
I'd  had  a  vision," — he  paused,  —  "a  revelation;" 
the  tears  were  beginning  to  roll  down  his  cheeks;  his 
lips  were  trembling;  "we  don't  have  to  go  back  two 
thousand  years  to  get  one,  either  —  I  saw  what  this 
world  's  got  to  be  saved  by  if  it 's  saved  at  all  — 

"What  was  it,  Mr.  Buzzby?"  Father  Honore  spoke 
in  a  low  voice. 

"I  saw  a  vision  of  human  love  that  was  forgiving, 
and  loving,  and  saving  by  nothing  but  love,  like  the 
divine  love  of  the  Christ  you  preach  about  —  Father 
Honore,  I  saw  Aileen  Armagh  sitting  on  a  block  of 
granite  and  Champney  Googe  kneeling  before  her, 
his  head  in  the  very  dust  at  her  feet  —  and  she  raising 
it  with  her  two  arms  —  and  her  face  was  like  an 
angel's  —  " 

The  two  men  drove  on  in  silence  to  Champ-au-Haut. 

The  priest  was  shown  at  once  to  Mrs.  Champney's 
room.  He  had  not  seen  her  for  over  a  year  and  was 
prepared  for  a  great  change ;  but  the  actual  impression 
of  her  condition,  as  she  lay  motionless  on  the  bed,  was 
a  shock.  His  practised  eye  told  him  that  the  Inevitable 
was  already  on  the  threshold,  demanding  entrance. 
He  turned  to  the  nurse  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"The  doctor  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes;  I  have 
telephoned  for  him,"  she  said  low  in  answer.  She  bent 
over  the  bed. 


464  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Mrs.  Champney,  Father  Honore  is  here;  you 
wished  to  see  him." 

The  eyes  opened;  there  was  still  mental  clarity  in 
their  outlook.  Father  Honore  stepped  to  the  bed. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Mrs.  Champ 
ney?"  he  asked  gently. 

"Yes." 

Her  articulation  was  indistinct  but  intelligible. 

"In  what  way?" 

She  looked  at  him  unwaveringly. 

"Is  —  she  going  —  to  marry  —  him ?  " 

Father  Honore  read  her  thought  and  wondered  how 
best  to  answer.  He  was  of  the  opinion  that  she  would  re 
member  Aileen  in  her  will.  The  girl  had  been  for  years 
so  faithful  and,  in  a  way,  Mrs.  Champney  cared  for 
her.  Humanly  speaking,  he  dreaded,  by  his  answer, 
to  endanger  the  prospect  of  the  assurance  to  Aileen  of 
a  sum  that  would  place  her  beyond  want  and  the  need 
to  work  for  any  one's  support  but  her  own  in  the  future. 
But  as  he  could  not  know  what  answer  might  or  might 
not  affect  Aileen's  future,  he  decided  to  speak  the  whole 
truth  —  let  come  what  might. 

"I  sincerely  hope  so,"  he  replied. 

"Do  —  you  know?"  with  a  slight  emphasis  on  the 
"know." 

"  I  know  they  love  each  other  —  have  loved  each 
other  for  many  years." 

"If  she  does  —  she  —  won't  get  anything  from  me 
—  you  tell  her  —  so." 

"That  will  make  no  difference  to  Aileen,  Mrs. 
Champney.  Love  outweighs  all  else  with  her." 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  unwaveringly. 

"  Love  —  fools  —  "  she  murmured. 

But    Father    Honore    caught    the    words,    and    the 


Flamsted  Quarries  465 

priest's  manhood  asserted  itself  in  the  face  of  disso 
lution  and  this  blasphemy. 

"No  —  rather  it  is  wisdom  for  them  to  love;  it  is 
ordained  of  God  that  human  beings  should  love;  I 
wish  them  joy.  May  I  not  tell  them  that  you,  too,  wish 
them  joy,  Mrs.  Champney?  Aileen  has  been  faithful 
to  you,  and  your  nephew  never  wronged  you  person 
ally.  Will  you  not  be  reconciled  to  him  ?"  he  pleaded. 

"No." 

"  But  why?"    He  spoke  very  gently,  almost  in  appeal. 

"Why?"  she  repeated  tonelessly,  her  eyes  still 
fixed  on  his  face,  "  because  he  is  —  hers  —  Aurora 
Googe's  —  " 

She  paused  for  another  effort.  Her  eyes  turned  at 
last  to  the  portrait  of  Louis  Champney  on  the  wall  at 
the  foot  of  her  bed. 

"  She  took  all  his  love  —  all  —  all  his  love  —  and  he 
was  my  husband  —  I  loved  my  husband  —  But  you 
don't  know  —  " 

"What,  Mrs.  Champney?  Let  me  help  you,  if  I 
can." 

"No  help  —  I  loved  my  husband  —  he  used  to  lie 
here  —  by  my  side  —  on  this  bed  —  and  cry  out  — 
in  his  sleep  for  her  —  lie  here  —  by  my  side  in  — 
the  night  —  and  stretch  out  his  arms  —  for  her  —  not 
me  —  not  for  me  —  " 

Her  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  Louis  Champney's  face. 
Suddenly  the  lids  drooped ;  she  grew  drowsy,  but  contin 
ued  to  murmur,  incoherently  at  first,  then  inarticulately. 

The  nurse  stepped  to  his  side.  Father  Honore's 
eyes  dwelt  pityingly  for  a  moment  on  this  deathbed; 
then  he  turned  and  left  the  room,  marvelling  at  the 
differentiated  expression  in  this  life  of  that  which  we 
name  Love. 


466  Flamsted  Quarries 

Octavius  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  lower  hall. 

"Did  you  see  her?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Yes;  but  to  no  purpose;  her  life  has  been  lived, 
Mr.  Buzzby;  nothing  can  affect  it  now." 

"You  don't  mean  she's  gone?"  Octavius  started 
at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice ;  it  seemed  to  echo  through 
the  house. 

"No;  but  it  is,  I  believe,  only  a  question  of  an  hour 
at  most." 

"I  'd  better  drive  up  then  for  Aileen;  she  ought  to 
know  —  ought  to  be  here." 

"Believe  me,  it  would  be  useless,  Mr.  Buzzby. 
Those  two  belong  to  life,  not  to  death  —  leave  them 
alone  together;  and  leave  her  there  above,  to  her  Maker 
and  the  infinite  mercy  of  His  Son." 

"Amen,"  said  Octavius  Buzzby  solemnly;  but  his 
thought  was  with  those  whom  he  had  seen  leave  Champ- 
au-Haut  through  the  same  outward-opening  portal  that 
was  now  set  wide  for  its  mistress:  the  old  Judge,  and 
his  son,  Louis  —  the  last  Champney. 

He  accompanied  Father  Honore*  to  the  door. 

"No  farther,  Mr.  Buzzby,"  he  said,  when  Octavius 
insisted  on  driving  him  home.  "Your  place  is  here. 
I  shall  take  the  tram  as  usual  at  The  Bow." 

They  shook  hands  without  further  speech.  In  the 
deepening  twilight  Octavius  watched  him  down  the 
driveway.  Despite  his  sixty  years  he  walked  with  the 
elastic  step  of  young  manhood. 


Unworthy  —  unworthy  !  '  was  Champney  Googe's  cry,  as 
he  knelt  before  Aileen  "  Page  467 


XI 

UNWORTHY  —  unworthy ! "  was  Champ- 
ney  Googe's  cry,  as  he  knelt  before  Aileen  in 
an  access  of  shame  and  contrition  in  the 
presence  of  such  a  revelation  of  woman's  love. 

Aileen  lifted  his  head,  laid  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
drew  him  by  her  young  strength  and  her  gentle  com 
pelling  words  to  a  seat  beside  her  on  the  granite  block. 
She  kept  her  arms  about  him. 

"No,  Champney,  not  unworthy;  but  worthy,  worthy 
of  it  all  —  all  that  life  can  give  you  in  compensation 
for  those  seven  years.  We  '11  put  it  all  behind  us ; 
we  '11  live  in  the  present  and  in  hope  of  a  blessed  future. 
Take  heart,  my  husband  —  " 

The  bowed  shoulders  heaved  beneath  her  arms. 

"So  little  to  offer  —  so  little  —  " 

'"So  little'!"  she  exclaimed;  "and  is  it 'little' you 
call  your  love  for  me  ?  Is  it  '  little '  that  I  'm  to  have  a 
home  —  at  last  —  of  my  own?  Is  it  'little'  that  the 
husband  I  love  is  going  out  of  it  and  coming  home  to  it 
in  his  daily  work,  and  my  heart  going  out  to  him  both 
ways  at  once?  And  is  it  'little'  you  call  the  gift  of  a 
mother  to  her  who  is  motherless  —  "  her  voice  faltered. 

Champney  caught  her  in  his  arms;  his  tears  fell 
upon  the  dark  head. 

"I'm  a  coward,  Aileen,  and  you  are  just  like  our 
Father  Honore;  but  I  will  put  all  behind  me.  I  will 
not  regret.  I  will  work  out  my  own  salvation  here  in 
my  native  place,  among  my  own  and  among  strangers. 


468  Flamsted  Quarries 

I  vow  here  /  will,  God  helping  me,  if  only  in  thankful 
ness  for  the  two  hearts  that  are  mine.  ,      .  " 


The  afterglow  faded  from  the  western  heavens.  The 
twilight  came  on  apace.  The  two  still  sat  there  in 
the  darkening  shed,  at  times  unburdening  their  over 
charged  hearts;  at  others  each  rested  heart  and  body 
and  soul  in  the  presence  of  the  other,  and  both  were 
aware  of  the  calming  influence  of  the  dim  and  silent 
shed. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  come  down  here  just  to 
night,  and  after  work  hours  too,  Champney?"  she 
asked,  curious  to  know  the  how  and  the  why  of  this 
meeting. 

"  I  came  down  for  my  second  chisel.  I  remembered 
when  I  got  home  that  it  needed  sharpening  and  I  could 
not  do  without  it  to-morrow  morning.  Of  course  the 
machine  shop  was  closed,  so  I  thought  I  'd  try  my 
hand  at  it  on  the  grindstone  up  home  this  evening." 

"Then  is  this  it?"  she  exclaimed,  picking  up  the 
chisel  from  the  block. 

"Yes,  that 's  mine."    He  held  out  his  hand  for  it. 

"Indeed,  you  're  not  going  to  have  it  —  not  this  one ! 
I  '11  buy  you  another,  but  this  is  mine.  Was  n't  I  hold 
ing  it  in  my  hand  and  thinking  of  you  when  I  saw  you 
coming  over  the  meadows?" 

"  Keep  it  —  and  I  '11  keep  something  I  have  of  yours." 

"Of  mine?  Where  did  you  get  anything  of  mine? 
Surely  it  is  n't  the  peppered  rosebud?" 

"  Oh,  no.    I  've  had  it  nearly  seven  years." 

"Seven  years!"  She  exclaimed  in  genuine  surprise. 
"And  whatever  have  you  had  of  mine  I  'd  like  to  know 
that  has  kept  seven  years  ?  It 's  neither  silver  nor  gold 
—  for  I  've  little  of  either ;  not  that  silver  or  gold  can 


Flamsted  Quarries  469 

make  a  man  happy,"  she  added  quickly,  fearing  he 
might  be  sensitive  to  her  speech. 

"No;   I've  learned  that,  Aileen,  thank  God!" 

"What  is  it  then?  — tell  me  quick." 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  the  workman's  blouse  and 
drew  forth  a  small  package,  wrapped  in  oiled  silk  and 
sewed  to  a  cord  that  was  round  his  neck.  He  opened 
it. 

Aileen  bent  to  examine  it,  her  eyes  straining  in  the 
increasing  dusk. 

"  Why,   it 's  never  —  it 's  not  my  handkerchief !  — 
Champney !" 

"Yes,  yours,  Aileen  —  that  night  in  all  the  horror 
and  despair,  I  heard  something  in  your  voice  that  told 
me  you  —  did  n't  hate  me  —  " 

"Oh,  Champney!" 

"  Yes.  I  've  kept  it  ever  since  —  I  asked  permission 
to  take  it  in  with  me  —  I  mean  into  my  cell.  They 
granted  it.  It  was  with  me  night  and  day  —  my  head 
lay  on  it  at  night ;  I  got  my  first  sleep  so  —  and  it  went 
with  me  to  work  during  the  day.  It  's  been  kissed  clean 
thin  till  it's  mere  gossamer;  it  helped,  that  and  the 
work,  to  save  my  brain  —  " 

She  caught  handkerchief  and  hand  in  both  hers  and 
pressed  her  lips  to  them  again  and  again. 

"And  now  I  'm  going  to  keep  it,  after  you  're  mine 
in  the  sight  of  man,  as  you  are  now  before  God;  put 
it  away  and  keep  it  for  -  He  stopped  short. 

"For  whom?"  she  whispered. 

He  drew  her  close  to  him  —  closer  and  more 
near. 

"Aileen,  my  beloved,"  his  voice  was  earnestly  joy 
ful,  "  I  am  hoping  for  the  blessing  of  children  —  are 
you?  —  " 


47°  Flamsted  Quarries 

"Except  for  you,  my  arms  will  feel  empty  for  them 
till  they  come  —  " 

11  Oh,  my  wife  —  my  true  wife  1  —  now  I  can  tell 
you  all!"  he  said,  and  the  earnest  note  was  lost  in 
purest  joy.  He  whispered: 

"  You  know,  dear,  I  'm  but  half  a  man,  and  must 
remain  such.  I  am  no  citizen,  have  no  citizen's  rights, 
can  never  vote  —  have  no  voice  in  all  that  appeals  to 
manhood  —  my  country  —  " 

"I  know  —  I  know  —  "  she  murmured  pityingly. 

"And  so  I  used  to  think  there  in  my  cell  at  night 
when  I  kissed  the  little  handkerchief  —  Please  God, 
if  Aileen  still  loves  me  when  I  get  out,  if  she  in  her 
loving  mercy  will  forgive  to  the  extent  that  she  will  be 
my  wife,  then  it  may  be  that  she  will  bestow  on  me  the 
blessing  of  a  child  —  a  boy  who  will  one  day  stand 
among  men  as  his  father  never  can  again,  who  will 
possess  the  full  rights  of  citizenship ;  in  him  I  may  live 
again  as  a  man  —  but  only  so." 

"Please  God  it  may  be  so." 

They  walked  slowly  homewards  to  The  Bow  in  the 
clear  warm  dark  of  the  midsummer-night.  They  had 
much  to  say  to  each  other,  and  often  they  lingered  on 
the  way.  They  lingered  again  when  they  came  to  the 
gate  by  the  paddock  in  the  lane. 

Aileen  looked  towards  the  house.  A  light  was  burn 
ing  in  Mrs.  Champney's  room. 

"I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Champney  must  be  much  worse. 
Tave  never  would  have  forgotten  me  if  he  had  n't  re 
ceived  some  telephone  message  while  he  was  at  Father 
Honore's.  But  the  nurse  said  there  was  nothing  I 
could  do  when  I  left  with  Tave  —  but  oh,  I  'm 
so  glad  he  did  n't  stop !  I  must  go  in  now,  Champ- 


Flamsted  Quarries  471 

ney,"  she  said  decidedly.  But  he  still  held  her  two 
hands. 

"Tell  me,  Champney,  have  you  ever  thought  your 
aunt  might  remember  you  —  for  the  wrong  she  did 
you?" 

"No;  and  if  she  should,  I  never  would  take  a  cent  of 
it  —  " 

"Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  —  so  glad  !"  She  squeezed  both 
his  hands  right  hard. 

He  read  her  thought  and  smiled  to  himself;  he  was 
glad  that  in  this  he  had  not  disappointed  her. 

"  But  there  's  one  thing  I  wish  she  would  do  —  poor 

—  poor  Aunt  Meda  —  "he  glanced  up  at  the  light  in 
the  window. 

"Yes,  'poor,'  Champney  —  I  know."  She  was  nod 
ding  emphatically. 

"I  wish  she  would  leave  enough  to  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
to  repay  with  interest  what  he  repaid  for  me  to  the  Com 
pany  ;  it  would  be  only  just,  for,  work  as  I  may,  I  can 
never  hope  to  do  that  —  and  I  long  so  to  do  it  —  no 
workman  could  do  it  —  " 

She  interrupted  gayly :  "  Oh,  but  you  've  a  working- 
woman  by  your  side !  "  She  snatched  away  her  small 
hands  —  for  she  belonged  to  the  small  people  of  the 
earth.  "  See,  Champney,  the  two  hands !  I  can  work, 
and  I  'm  not  afraid  of  it.  I  can  earn  a  lot  to  help  with 

—  and  I  shall.    There  's  my  cooking,  and  singing,  and 
embroidery  — 

He  smiled  again  in  the  dark  at  her  enthusiasm  —  it 
was  so  like  her ! 

"  And  I  '11  lift  the  care  from  our  mother  too,  —  and 
you  're  not  to  fret  your  dear  soul  about  the  Van  Ostend 
money  —  if  one  can't  do  it,  surely  two  can  with  God's 
blessing.  Now  I  must  go  in  —  and  you  may  give  me 


472  Flamsted  Quarries 

another  kiss  for  I  've  been  on  starvation  diet  these  last 
seven  years  —  only  one  —  oh,  Champney!"  .  .  . 

The  dim  light  continued  to  burn  in  the  upper  cham 
ber  at  Champ-au-Haut  until  the  morning;  for  before 
Champney  and  Aileen  left  the  shed,  the  Inevitable  had 
already  crossed  the  threshold  of  that  chamber  —  and 
the  dim  light  burned  on  to  keep  him  company.  .  .  . 

A  month  later,  when  Almeda  Champney's  will  was 
admitted  to  probate  and  its  contents  made  public,  it 
was  found  that  there  were  but  six  bequests  —  one  of 
which  was  contained  in  the  codicil  —  namely : 

To  Octavius  Buzzby  the  oil  portrait  of  Louis 
Champney. 

To  Ann  and  Hannah  one  thousand  dollars  each  in 
recognition  of  faithful  service  for  thirty-seven  years. 

To  Aileen  Armagh  (so  read  the  codicil)  a  like  sum 
provided  she  did  not  marry  Champney  Googe. 

One  half  of  the  remainder  of  the  estate,  real  and 
personal,  was  bequeathed  to  Henry  Van  Ostend;  the 
other  half,  in  trust,  to  his  daughter,  Alice  Maud  Mary 
Van  Ostend. 

The  instrument  bore  the  date  of  Champney  Googe' s 
commitment. 


The   Last   Word 


The   Last  Word 


IT  is  the  day  after  Flamsted's  first  municipal  elec 
tion;  after  twenty  years  of  progress  it  has  at 
tained  to  proud  citizenship.  The  community, 
now  amounting  to  twelve  thousand,  has  spent  all  its 
surplus  energy  in  municipal  electioneering  delirium; 
there  were  four  candidates  in  the  field  for  mayor 
and  party  spirit  ran  high.  On  this  bright  May  morn 
ing  of  1910,  the  streets  are  practically  deserted,  whereas 
yesterday  they  were  filled  with  shouting  throngs.  The 
banners  are  still  flung  across  the  main  street;  a  light 
breeze  lifts  them  into  prominence  and  with  them  the 
name  of  the  successful  candidate  they  bear  —  Luigi 
Poggi. 

The  Colonel,  as  a  result  of  continued  oratory  in  favor 
of  his  son-in-law's  candidacy,  is  laid  up  at  home  with 
an  attack  of  laryngitis;  but  he  has  strength  left  to 
whisper  to  Elmer  Wiggins  who  has  come  up  to  see 
him: 

"Yesterday,  after  twenty  years  of  solid  work,  Flam- 
sted  entered  upon  its  industrial  majority  through  the 
throes  of  civic  travail,"  a  mixture  of  metaphors  that 
Mr.  Wiggins  ignores  in  his  joy  at  the  result  of  the  elec 
tion  ;  for  Mr.  Wiggins  has  been  hedging  with  his  New 
England  conscience  and  fearing,  as  a  consequence, 


476  Flamsted   Quarries 

punishment  in  disappointmenting  election  results.  He 
wavered,  in  casting  his  vote,  between  the  two  principal 
candidates,  young  Emlie,  Lawyer  Emlie's  son,  and 
Luigi  Poggi. 

As  a  Flamstedite  in  good  and  regular  standing,  he 
knew  he  ought  to  vote  for  his  own,  Emlie,  instead  of  a 
foreigner.  But,  he  desired  above  all  things  to  see 
Luigi  Poggi,  his  friend,  the  most  popular  merchant 
and  keenest  man  of  affairs  in  the  town,  the  first  mayor 
of  the  city  of  Flamsted.  Torn  between  his  duty  and 
the  demands  of  his  heart,  he  compromised  by  starting 
a  Poggi  propaganda,  that  was  carried  on  over  his 
counter  and  behind  the  mixing-screen,  with  every  cus 
tomer  whether  for  pills  or  soda  water.  Then,  on  the 
decisive  day,  he  entered  the  booth  and  voted  a  straight 
Emlie  ticket ! !  So  much  for  the  secret  ballot. 

He  shook  the  Colonel's  hand  right  heartily. 

"I  thought  I'd  come  up  to  congratulate  personally 
both  you  and  the  city,  and  talk  things  over  in  a  general 
way,  Colonel;  sorry  to  find  you  so  used  up,  but  in  a 
good  cause." 

The  Colonel  beamed. 

"A  matter  of  a  day  or  two  of  rest.  You  did  good 
work,  Mr.  Wiggins,  good  work,"  he  whispered;  ''you  'd 
make  a  good  parliamentary  whip  —  'Gad,  my  voice  is 
gone !  —  but  as  you  say,  in  a  good  cause  —  a  good 
cause  —  " 

"No  better  on  earth,"  Mr.  Wiggins  responded 
enthusiastically. 

The  Colonel  was  magnanimous;  he  forbore  to 
whisper  one  word  in  reminder  of  the  old-time  pessimism 
that  twenty  years  ago  held  the  small-headed  man  of 
Maine  in  such  dubious  thrall. 

"It   was  each   man's  vote   that   told  —  yours,   and 


Flamsted  Quarries  477 

mine  — "  he  whispered  again,  nodding  understand- 
ingly. 

Mr.  Wiggins  at  once  changed  the  subject. 

"Don't  you  exert  yourself,  Colonel;  let  me  do  the 
talking  —  for  a  change,"  he  added  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eyes.  The  Colonel  caught  his  meaning  and  threw 
back  his  head  for  a  hearty  laugh,  but  failed  to  make  a 
sound. 

"Mr.  Van  Ostend  came  up  on  the  train  last  night, 
just  in  time  to  see  the  fireworks,  they  say,"  said  Mr. 
Wiggins.  "  Yes,"  he  went  on  in  answer  to  a  question  he 
read  in  the  Colonel's  eyes,  "came  up  to  see  about  the 
Champo  property.  Emlie  told  me  this  morning.  Mr. 
Van  Ostend  and  Tave  and  Father  Honore  are  up  there 
now;  I  saw  the  automobile  standing  in  the  driveway 
as  I  came  up  on  the  car.  Guess  Tave  has  run  the 
place  about  as  long  as  he  \vants  to  alone.  He  's  getting 
on  in  years  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  don't  want  so  much 
responsibility." 

"Does  Emlie  know  anything?"  whispered  the 
Colonel  eagerly. 

"Nothing  definite;  they  're  going  to  talk  it  over  to 
day;  but  he  had  some  idea  about  the  disposition  of 
the  estate,  I  think,  from  what  he  said." 

The  Colonel  motioned  with  his  lips:    "Tell  me." 

Mr.  Wiggins  proceeded  to  give  the  Colonel  the  de 
sired  information. 

While  this  one-sided  conversation  was  taking  place, 
Henry  Van  Ostend  was  standing  on  the  terrace  at 
Champ-au-Haut,  discussing  with  Father  Honore  and 
Octavius  Buzzby  the  best  method  of  investing  the  in 
creasing  revenues  of  the  large  estate,  vacant,  except  for 
its  faithful  factotum  and  the  care-takers,  Ann  and 


47 8  Flamsted  Quarries 

Hannah,  during  the  seven  years  that  have  passed  since 
Mrs.  Champney's  death. 

"Mr.  Googe  had  undoubtedly  a  perfect  right  to  dis 
pute  this  will,  Father  Honore,"  he  was  saying. 

"But  he  would  never  have  done  it;  I  know  such  a 
thing  could  never  have  occurred  to  him." 

"That  does  not  alter  the  facts  of  this  rather  peculiar 
case.  Mr.  Buzzby  knows  that,  up  to  this  date,  my 
daughter  and  I  have  never  availed  ourselves  of  any 
rights  in  this  estate;  and  he  has  managed  it  so  wisely 
alone,  during  these  last  seven  years,  that  now  he  no 
longer  wishes  to  be  responsible  for  the  investment  of 
its  constantly  increasing  revenues.  I  shall  never 
consider  this  estate  mine  —  will  or  no  will."  He 
spoke  emphatically.  "  Law  is  one  thing,  but  a  right 
attitude,  where  property  is  concerned,  towards  one's 
neighbor  is  quite  another." 

He  looked  to  right  and  left  of  the  terrace,  and  in 
cluded  in  his  glance  many  acres  of  the  noble  estate. 
Father  Honore,  watching  him,  suddenly  recalled  that 
evening  in  the  financier's  own  house  when  the  Law 
was  quoted  as  "fundamental"  —  and  he  smiled  to 
himself. 

Mr.  Van  Ostend  faced  the  two- men. 

"Do  you  think  it  would  do  any  good  for  me  to  ap 
proach  him  on  the  subject  of  setting  apart  that  portion 
of  the  personal  estate,  and  its  increase  in  the  last  seven 
years,  which  Mrs.  Champney  inherited  from  her  father, 
Mr.  Googe' s  grandfather,  for  his  children  —  that  is  if 
he  won't  take  it  himself?" 

"No." 

The  two  men  spoke  as  one ;  the  negative  was  strongly 
emphatic. 

"Mr.  Van  Ostend,"   Octavius  Buzzby  spoke  with 


Flamsted  Quarries  479 

suppressed  excitement,  "if  I  may  make  bold,  who  has 
lived  here  on  this  place  and  known  its  owners  for  forty 
years,  to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  I  'd  like  to  give  it." 

"  I  want  all  I  can  get,  Mr.  Buzzby ;  it  will  help  me  to 
see  my  way  in  this  matter." 

"Then  I  'm  going  to  ask  you  to  let  bygones  be  by 
gones,  and  not  say  one  word  to  Mr.  Googe  about  this 
property.  He  begun  seven  years  ago  in  the  sheds  and 
has  worked  his  way  up  to  foreman  this  last  year,  and  if 
you  was  to  propose  to  him  what  you  have  to  us,  it 
would  rake  up  the  past,  sir  —  a  past  that 's  now  in  its 
grave,  thank  God  !  Champney  —  I  ask  your  pardon 
-  Mr.  Googe  would  n't  touch  a  penny  of  it  more  'n 
he  'd  touch  carrion.  I  know  this ;  nor  he  would  n't 
have  his  boy  touch  it  either.  I  ain't  saying  he  don't 
appreciate  the  good  money  does,  for  he  's  told  me  so; 
but  for  himself  —  well,  sir,  I  think  you  know  what  I 
mean :  he  's  through  with  what  is  just  money.  He  's 
a  man,  is  Champney  Googe,  and  he  's  living  his  life  in 
a  way  that,  makes  the  almighty  dollar  look  pretty 
small  in  comparison  with  it  —  Father  Honore,  you 
know  this  as  well  as  I  do." 

The  priest  nodded  gravely  in  the  affirmative. 

"Tell  me  something  of  his  life,  Father  Honore," 
said  Mr.  Van  Ostend;  "you  know  the  degree  of  re 
spect  I  have  always  had  for  him  ever  since  he  took  his 
punishment  like  a  man  —  and  you  and  I  were  both  on 
the  wrong  track,"  he  added  with  a  meaning  smile. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  to  say,"  replied  his  friend. 
"  It  is  n't  anything  I  can  point  to  and  say  he  has  done 
this  or  that,  because  he  gets  beneath  the  surface,  as 
you  might  say,  and  works  there.  But  I  do  know  that 
where  there  is  an  element  of  strife  among  the  men, 
there  you  will  find  him  as  peacemaker  —  he  has  a 


480  Flamsted  Quarries 

wonderful  way  with  them,  but  it  is  indefinable.  We 
don't  know  all  he  does,  for  he  never  speaks  of  it,  only 
every  once  in  a  while  something  leaks  out.  I  know 
that  where  there  is  a  sickbed  and  a  quarryman  on  it, 
there  you  will  find  Champney  Googe  as  watcher  after 
his  day's  work  —  and  tender  in  his  ministrations  as  a 
woman.  I  know  that  when  sickness  continues  and 
the  family  are  dependent  on  the  fund,  Champney 
Googe  works  many  a  night  overtime  and  gives  his 
extra  pay  to  help  out.  I  know,  too,  that  when  a  strike 
threatens,  he,  who  is  now  in  the  union  because  he  is 
convinced  he  can  help  best  there,  is  the  balance-wheel, 
and  prevents  radical  unreason  and  its  results.  There  's 
trouble  brewing  there  now  —  about  the  automatic 
bush  hammer  — 

"I  have  heard  of  it." 

" — And  Jim  McCann  is  proving  intractable.  Mr. 
Googe  is  at  work  with  him,  and  hopes  to  bring  him 
round  to  a  just  point  of  view.  And  I  know,  moreover, 
that  when  there  is  a  crime  committed  and  a  criminal 
to  be  dealt  with,  that  criminal  finds  in  the  new  fore 
man  of  Shed  Number  Two  a  friend  who,  without  con 
doning  the  crime,  stands  by  him  as  a  human  being.  I 
know  that  out  of  his  own  deep  experience  he  is  able  to 
reach  out  to  other  men  in  need,  as  few  can.  In  all  this 
his  wife  is  his  helpmate,  his  mother  his  inspiration.  — 
What  more  can  I  say?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Henry  Van  Ostend  gravely.  "He 
has  two  children  I  hear  —  a  boy  and  a  girl.  I  should 
like  to  see  her  who  was  the  little  Aileen  of  twenty  years 
ago." 

"I  hope  you  may,"  said  Father  Honore  cordially; 
"yes,  he  has  two  lovely  children,  Honore,  now  in  his 
first  knickerbockers,  is  my  namesake  —  " 


Flamsted  Quarries  481 

Octavius    interrupted    him,     smiling    significantly: 

"He  's  something  more  than  Father  Honore's  name 
sake,  Mr.  Van  Ostend,  he  's  his  shadow  when  he  is 
with  him.  The  men  have  a  little  joke  among  them 
selves  whenever  they  see  the  two  together,  and  that  's 
pretty  often;  they  say  Father  Honore's  shadow  will 
never  grow  less  till  little  Honore  reaches  his  full  growth." 

The  priest  smiled.  "He  and  I  are  very,  very  close 
friends,"  was  all  he  permitted  himself  to  say,  but  the 
other  men  read  far  more  than  that  into  his  words. 

Henry  Van  Ostend  looked  thoughtful.  He  con 
sidered  with  himself  for  a  few  minutes ;  then  he  spoke, 
weighing  his  words: 

"I  thank  you  both;  I  have  solved  my  difficulty  with 
your  help.  You  have  spoken  frankly  to  me,  and  shown 
me  this  matter  in  a  different  light;  I  may  speak  as 
frankly  to  you,  as  to  Mr.  Googe's  closest  friends.  The 
truth  is,  neither  my  daughter  nor  myself  can  appropri 
ate  this  money  to  ourselves  —  we  both  feel  that  it  does 
not  belong  to  us,  in  the  circumstances.  I  should  like 
you  both  to  tell  Mr.  Googe  for  me,  that  out  of  the  funds 
accruing  to  the  estate  from  his  grandfather's  money,  I 
will  take  for  my  share  the  hundred  thousand  dollars  I 
repaid  to  the  Quarries  Company  thirteen  years  ago  — 
you  know  what  I  mean  —  and  the  interest  on  the  same 
for  those  six  years.  Mr.  Googe  will  understand  that 
this  is  done  in  settlement  of  a  mere  business  account  — 
and  he  will  understand  it  as  between  man  and  man.  I 
think  it  will  satisfy  him. 

"  I  have  determined  since  talking  with  you,  although 
the  scheme  has  been  long  in  my  mind  and  I  have 
spoken  to  Mr.  Emlie  about  it,  to  apply  the  remainder 
of  the  estate  for  the  benefit  of  the  quarrymen,  the 
stone-cutters,  their  families  and,  incidentally,  the  city 


482  Flamsted  Quarries 

of  Flamsted.  My  plans  are,  of  course,  indefinite; 
I  cannot  give  them  in  detail,  not  having  had  time  to 
think  them  out;  but  I  may  say  that  this  house  will  be 
eventually  a  home  for  men  disabled  in  the  quarries  or 
sheds.  The  plan  will  develop  further  in  the  executing 
of  it.  You,  Father  Honore,  you  and  Mr.  Buzzby,  Mr. 
Googe,  and  Mr.  Emlie  will  be  constituted  a  Board  of 
Overseers  —  I  know  that  in  your  hands  the  work  will 
be  advanced,  and,  I  hope,  prospered  to  the  benefit  of 
this  generation  and  succeeding  ones." 

Octavius   Buzzby   grasped   his   hand. 

"  Mr.  Van  Ostend,  I  wish  old  Judge  Champney 
was  living  to  hear  this !  He  'd  approve,  Mr.  Van 
Ostend,  he'd  approve  of  it  all  —  and  Mr.  Louis  too." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Buzzby,  for  these  words;  they  do 
me  good.  And  now,"  he  said,  turning  to  Father 
Honore,  "  I  want  very  much  to  see  Mr.  Googe  —  now 
that  this  business  is  settled.  I  have  wanted  to  see  him 
many  times  during  these  last  six  years,  but  I  felt  — 
I  feared  he  might  consider  my  visiting  him  an  in 
trusion  —  " 

"Not  at  all  —  not  at  all;  this  simply  shows  me  that 
you  don't  as  yet  know  the  real  Mr.  Googe.  He  will  be 
glad  to  see  you  at  any  time." 

"I  think  I  'd  like  to  see  him  in  the  shed." 

"No  reason  in  the  world  why  you  should  n't;  he  is 
one  of  the  most  accessible  men  at  all  times  and  seasons." 

"Supposing,  then,  you  ride  up  with  me  in  the  auto 
mobile?" 

"Certainly  I  will;   shall  we  go  up  this  forenoon?" 

"Yes,  I  should  like  to  go  now.  Mr.  Buzzby,  I  shall 
be  back  this  afternoon  for  a  talk  with  you.  I  want 
to  make  some  definite  arrangement  for  Ann  and 
Hannah." 


Flamsted  Quarries  483 

"  I  '11  be  here." 

The  two  walked  together  to  the  driveway,  and  shortly 
the  mellow  note  of  the  great  Panhard's  horn  sounded, 
as  the  automobile  rounded  the  curve  of  The  Bow  and 
sped  away  to  the  north  shore  highway  and  the  sheds. 

Late  that  afternoon  Aileen,  with  her  baby  daughter, 
Aurora,  in  her  arms,  was  standing  on  the  porch  watch 
ing  for  her  husband's  return.  The  usual  hour  for  his 
home-coming  had  long  passed.  She  began  to  fear  that 
the  threatened  trouble  in  the  sheds,  on  account  of  the 
attempted  introduction  of  the  automatic  bush  hammer, 
might  have  come  to  a  crisis.  At  last,  however,  she  saw 
him  leave  the  car  and  cross  the  bridge  over  the  Rothel. 
His  step  was  quick  and  firm.  She  waved  her  hand  to 
him;  a  swing  of  his  cap  answered  her.  Then  little 
Aurora's  tiny  fist  was  manipulated  by  her  mother  to 
produce  a  baby  form  of  welcome. 

Champney  sprang  up  the  steps  two  at  a  time,  and 
for  a  moment  the  little  wife  and  baby  Aurora  disap 
peared  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  Champney,  I  'm  so  thankful  you  've  come ! 
I  knew  just  by  the  way  you  came  over  the  bridge  that 
things  were  going  better  at  the  sheds.  You  are  so 
late  I  began  to  get  worried.  Come,  supper  's  waiting." 

"Wait  a  minute,  Aileen  —  Mother—  '  he  called 
through  the  hall,  "come  here  a  minute,  please." 

Aurora  Googe  came  quickly  at  that  ever  welcome 
call.  Her  face  was  even  more  beautiful  than  formerly, 
for  great  joy  and  peace  irradiated  every  feature. 

"Where  's  Honore?"  he  said  abruptly,  looking  about 
for  his  boy  who  was  generally  the  first  to  run  as  far  as 
the  bridge  to  greet  him.  His  wife  answered. 

"He  and  Billy  went  with  Father  Honore  as  far  as 


484  Flamsted  Quarries 

the  power-house;  he  '11  be  back  soon  with  Billy.  Sister 
Ste.  Croix  went  by  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  I  told  her  to 
hurry  them  home.  —  What 's  the  good  news,  Champ- 
ney  ?  Tell  me  quick  —  I  can't  wait  to  hear  it." 

Champney  smiled  down  at  the  eager  face  look 
ing  up  to  him;  her  chin  was  resting  on  her  baby's 
head. 

"  Mr.  Van  Ostend  has  been  in  the  sheds  to-day  — 
and  I  've  had  a  long  talk  with  him." 

"  Oh,  Champney !  " 

Both  women  exclaimed  at  the  same  time,  and  their 
faces  reflected  the  joy  that  shone  in  the  eyes  of  the 
man  they  loved  with  a  love  bordering  on  worship. 

Champney  nodded.  "Yes,  and  so  satisfactory  —  " 
he  drew  a  long  breath;  "I  have  so  much  to  tell  it  will 
take  hah0  the  evening.  He  wishes  to  '  pay  his  respects,' 
so  he  says,  to  my  wife  and  mother,  if  convenient  for 
the  ladies  to-morrow  —  how  is  it?"  He  looked  with  a 
smile  first  into  the  gray  eyes  and  then  into  the  dark 
ones.  In  the  latter  he  read  silent  pleased  consent ;  but 
Aileen's  danced  for  joy  as  she  answered : 

"  Convenient !  So  convenient,  that  he  '11  get  the  sur 
prise  of  his  life  from  me,  anyhow;  he  really  must  be 
made  to  realize  that  I  am  his  debtor  for  the  rest  of  my 
days  —  don't  I  owe  the  'one  man  on  earth  for  me'  to 
him?  for  would  I  have  ever  seen  Flamsted  but  for 
him?  And  have  I  ever  forgotten  the  roses  he  dropped 
into  the  skirt  of  my  dress  twenty-one  years  ago  this 
very  month  when  I  sang  the  Sunday  night  song  for 
him  at  the  Vaudeville  ?  Twenty-one  years  !  Goodness, 
but  it  makes  me  feel  old,  mother!" 

Aurora  Googe  smiled  indulgently  on  her  daughter, 
for,  at  times,  Aileen,  not  only  in  ways,  but  looks,  was 
still  like  the  child  of  twelve. 


Flamsted  Quarries  485 

Champney  grew  suddenly  grave. 

"Do  you  realize,  Aileen,  that  this  meeting  to-day  in 
the  shed  is  the  first  in  which  we  three,  Father  Honore, 
Mr.  Van  Ostend,  and  I,  have  ever  been  together  under 
one  roof  since  that  night  twenty-one  years  ago  when  I 
first  saw  you?" 

"Why,  that  doesn't  seem  possible  —  but  it  is  so, 
is  n't  it  ?  Was  n't  that  strange  !" 

"Yes,  and  no,"  said  Champney,  looking  at  his 
mother.  "I  thought  of  our  first  meeting  one  another 
at  the  Vaudeville,  as  we  three  stood  there  together  in 
the  shed  looking  upwards  to  The  Gore;  and  Father 
Honore  told  me  afterward  that  he  was  thinking  of  that 
same  thing.  We  both  wondered  if  Mr.  Van  Ostend 
recalled  that  evening,  and  the  fact  of  our  first  acquaint 
ance,  although  unknown  to  one  another." 

"I  wonder—  "  said  Aileen,  musingly. 

Champney  spoke  abruptly  again;  there  was  a  note 
of  uneasiness  in  his  voice : 

"I  wonder  what  keeps  Honore  —  I'll  just  run  up 
the  road  and  see  if  he  's  coming.  If  he  is  n't,  I  will  go 
on  till  I  meet  the  boys.  I  wish,"  he  added  wistfully, 
"that  McCann  felt  as  kindly  to  me  as  Billy  does  to  my 
son;  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  old  grudge  of  his 
against  me  will  never  yield,  not  even  to  time ;  —  I  '11  be 
back  in  a  few  minutes." 

Aileen  watched  him  out  of  sight;  then  she  turned 
to  Aurora  Googe. 

"We  are  blest  in  this  turn  of  affairs,  aren't  we, 
mother?  This  meeting  is  the  one  thing  Champney  has 
been  dreading  —  and  yet  longing  for.  I  'm  glad  it 's 
over." 

"  So  am  I ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  Father  Honore 
brought  it  about;  if  you  remember,  he  said  nothing 


486  Flamsted  Quarries 

about  Mr.  Van  Ostend's  being  here  when  he  stopped 
just  now." 

"So  he  didn't!"  Aileen  spoke  in  some  surprise; 
then  she  added  with  a  joyous  laugh:  "Oh,  that  dear 
man  is  sly  —  bless  him!"  —  But  the  tears  dimmed  her 
eyes. 


II 

O  straight  home  with  Honore*,  Billy,  as 
straight  as  ever  you  can,"  said  Father 
Honore*  to  eight-year-old  Billy  McCann  who 
for  the  past  year  had  constituted  himself  protector  of 
five-year-old  Honore  Googe ;  "  I  '11  watch  you  around 
the  power-house." 

Little  Honore  reached  up  with  both  arms  for  the 
usual  parting  from  the  man  he  adored.  The  priest 
caught  him  up,  kissed  him  heartily,  and  set  him  down 
again  with  the  added  injunction  to  "trot  home." 

The  two  little  boys  ran  hand  in  hand  down  the  road. 
Father  Honore  watched  them  till  the  power-house 
shut  them  from  sight;  then  he  waited  for  their  re 
appearance  at  the  other  corner  where  the  road  curves 
downward  to  the  highroad.  He  never  allowed  Honore 
to  go  alone  over  the  piece  of  road  between  the  point 
where  he  was  standing  and  the  power-house,  for 
the  reason  that  it  bordered  one  of  the  steepest  and 
roughest  ledges  in  The  Gore ;  a  careless  step  would  be 
sure  to  send  so  small  a  child  rolling  down  the  rough 
surface.  But  beyond  the  power-house,  the  ledges  fell 
away  very  gradually  to  the  lowest  slopes  where  stood, 
one  among  many  in  the  quarries,  the  new  monster 
steel  derrick  which  the  men  had  erected  last  wreek. 
They  had  been  testing  it  for  several  days;  even  now 
its  powerful  arm  held  suspended  a  block  of  many  tons' 
\veight.  This  was  a  part  of  the  test  for  "graduated 
strain"  —  the  weight  being  increased  from  day  to  day. 


488  Flamsted  Quarries 

The  men,  in  leaving  their  work,  often  took  a  short 
cut  homeward  from  the  lower  slope  to  the  road  just 
below  the  power-house,  by  crossing  this  gentle  declivity 
of  the  ledge.  Evidently  Billy  McCann  with  this  in  mind 
had  twisted  the  injunction  to  "go  straight  home"  into 
a  chance  to  "cut  across";  for  surely  this  way  would 
be  the  "straightest."  Besides,  there  was  the  added 
inducement  of  close  proximity  to  the  wonderful  new 
derrick  that,  since  its  instalment,  had  been  occupying 
many  of  Billy's  waking  thoughts. 

Father  Honore,  watching  for  the  children's  re 
appearance  at  the  corner  of  the  road  just  beyond  the 
long  low  power-house,  was  suddenly  aware,  with  a 
curious  shock,  of  the  two  little  boys  trotting  in  a  lively 
manner  down  the  easy  grade  of  the  "cross  cut"  slope, 
and  nearing  the  derrick  and  its  suspended  weight. 
He  frowned  at  the  sight  and,  calling  loudly  to  them  to 
come  back,  started  straight  down  over  the  steep  ledge 
at  the  side  of  the  road.  He  heard  some  one  else  calling 
the  boys  by  name,  and,  a  moment  later,  saw  that 
it  was  Sister  Ste.  Croix  who  was  coming  up  the 
hill. 

The  children  did  not  hear,  or  would  not,  because  of 
their  absorption  in  getting  close  to  the  steel  giant  tower 
ing  above  them.  Sister  Ste.  Croix  called  again;  then 
she,  too,  started  down  the  slope  after  them. 

She  noticed  some  men  running  from  the  farther  side 
of  the  quarry.  She  saw  Father  Honore  suddenly  spring 
by  leaps  and  bounds  down  over  the  rough  ledge.  What 
was  it?  The  children  were  apparently  in  no  danger. 
She  looked  up  at  the  derrick  - 

What  was  that!  A  tremor  in  its  giant  frame;  a 
swaying  of  its  cabled  mast;  a  sickening  downward 
motion  of  the  weighted  steel  arm  —  then  — 


Flamsted  Quarries  489 

" Merciful  Christ!"  she  groaned,  and  for  the  space 
of  a  few  seconds  covered  her  eyes.  .  .  . 

The  priest,  catching  up  the  two  children  one  under 
each  arm,  ran  with  superhuman  strength  to  evade  the 
falling  derrick  —  with  a  last  supreme  effort  he  rolled 
the  boys  beyond  its  reach ;  they  were  saved,  but  - 

Their  savior  was  pinioned  by  the  steel  tip  fast  to 
the  unyielding  granite. 

A  woman's  shriek  rent  the  air  —  a  fearful  cry : 

"  Jean  —  mon  Jean  !" 

A  moment  more  and  Sister  Ste.  Croix  reached  the 
spot  —  she  took  his  head  on  her  lap. 

"  Jean  —  mon  Jean,"  she  cried  again. 

The  eyes,  dimmed  already,  opened;  he  made  a 
supreme  effort  to  speak  — 

"  Margot  —  p'tite  Truite  —  "  .  .  . 

Thus,  after  six  and  forty  years  of  silence,  Love  spoke 
once;  that  Love,  greater  than  State  and  Church  be 
cause  it  is  the  foundation  of  both,  and  without  it  neither 
could  exist ;  that  Love  —  co-eval  with  all  life,  the  Love 
which  defies  time,  sustains  absence,  glorifies  loss  — 
remains,  thank  God !  a  deathless  legacy  to  the 
toiling  Race  of  the  Human,  and,  because  deathless, 
triumphant  in  death. 

It  triumphed  now.  .  .  . 

The  ponderous  crash  of  the  derrick  followed  by  the 
screams  of  the  two  boys,  brought  the  quarrymen,  the 
women  and  children,  rushing  in  terrified  haste  from 
their  evening  meal.  But  when  they  reached  the  spot, 
and  before  Champney  Googe,  running  over  the  granite 
slopes,  as  once  years  before  he  ran  from  pursuing  jus 
tice,  could  satisfy  himself  that  his  boy  was  uninjured, 
at  what  a  sacrifice  he  knew  only  when  he  knelt  by 
the  prostrate  form,  before  Jim  McCann,  seizing  a 


49°  Flamsted  Quarries 

lever,  could  shout  to  the  men  to  "lift  all  together," 
the  life-blood  ebbed,  carrying  with  it  on  the  hurrying 
out-going  tide  the  priest's  loving  undaunted  spirit. 

All  work  at  the  quarries  and  the  sheds  was  sus 
pended  during  the  following  Saturday ;  the  final  service 
was  to  be  held  on  Sunday. 

All  Saturday  afternoon,  while  the  bier  rested  before 
the  altar  in  the  stone  chapel  by  the  lake  shore,  a  silent 
motley  procession  filed  under  the  granite  lintel :  — 
stalwart  Swede,  blue-eyed  German,  sallow-cheeked 
Pole,  dark-eyed  Italian,  burly  Irish,  low-browed 
Czechs,  French  Canadians,  stolid  English  and  Scotch, 
Henry  Van  Ostend  and  three  of  the  directors  of  the 
Flamsted  Quarries  Company,  rivermen  from  the 
Penobscot,  lumbermen  from  farther  north,  the  Colonel 
and  three  of  his  sons,  the  rector  from  The  Bow,  a  dig 
nitary  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  from  New  York, 
the  little  choir  boys  —  children  of  the  quarrymen  — 
and  Augustus  Buzzby,  members  of  the  Paulist  Order, 
Elmer  Wiggins,  Octavius  Buzzby  supporting  old  Joel 
Quimber,  Nonna  Lisa  —  in  all,  over  three  thousand 
souls  one  by  one  passed  up  the  aisle  to  stand  with 
bared  bowed  head  by  that  bier ;  to  look  their  last  upon 
the  mask  of  the  soul;  to  render,  in  spirit,  homage  to  the 
spirit  that  had  wrought  among  its  fellows,  manfully, 
unceasingly,  to  realize  among  them  on  this  earth  a 
long-striven-for  ideal. 

Many  a  one  knelt  in  prayer.  Many  a  mother,  not 
of  English  tongue,  placing  her  hand  upon  the  head  of 
her  little  child  forced  him  to  kneel  beside  her;  her 
tears  wet  the  stone  slabs  of  the  chancel  floor. 

Just  before  sunset,  the  Daughters  of  the  Mystic  Rose 
passed  into  the  church;  they  bore  tapers  to  set  upon 


Flamsted  Quarries  491 

the  altar,  and  at  the  head  and  foot  of  the  bier.  Two  of 
them  remained  throughout  the  night  to  pray  by  the 
chancel  rail ;  one  of  them  was  Sister  Ste.  Croix.  Silent, 
immovable  she  knelt  there  throughout  the  short  June 
night.  Her  secret  remained  with  her  and  the  one  at 
whose  feet  she  was  kneeling. 

The  little  group  of  special  friends  from  The  Gore 
came  last,  just  a  little  while  before  the  face  they  loved 
was  to  be  covered  forever  from  human  gaze:  Aileen 
with  her  four-months'  babe  in  her  arms,  Aurora  Googe 
leading  little  Honore  by  the  hand,  Margaret  McCann 
with  her  boy,  Elvira  Caukins  and  her  two  daughters. 
Silent,  their  tears  raining  upon  the  awed  and  upturned 
faces  of  the  children,  they,  too,  knelt ;  but  no  sound  of 
sobbing  profaned  the  great  peaceful  silence  that  was 
broken  only  by  the  faint  chip-chip-chipping  mono 
tone  from  Shed  Number  Two.  In  that  four  men  were 
at  work.  Champney  Googe  was  one  of  them. 

He  was  expecting  them  at  this  appointed  time. 
When  he  saw  them  enter  the  chapel,  he  put  aside 
hammer  and  chisel  and  went  across  the  meadow  to 
join  them.  He  waited  for  them  to  come  out ;  then,  tak 
ing  the  babe  from  his  wife's  arms,  he  gave  her  into  his 
mother's  keeping.  He  looked  significantly  at  his  wife. 
The  others  passed  on  and  out;  but  Aileen  turned  and 
with  her  husband  retraced  her  steps  to  the  altar.  They 
knelt,  hand  clasped  in  hand.  .  .  . 

When  they  rose  to  look  their  last  upon  that  loved 
face,  they  knew  that  their  lives  had  received  through 
his  spirit  the  benediction  of  God. 

Champney  returned  to  his  work,  for  time  pressed. 
The  quarrymen  in  The  Gore  had  asked  permission 
the  day  before  to  quarry  a  single  stone  in  which  their 


492  Flamsted  Quarries 

priest  should  find  his  final  resting  place.  Many  of  them 
were  Italians,  and  Luigi  Poggi  was  spokesman.  Per 
mission  being  given,  he  turned  to  the  men : 

"For  the  love  of  God  and  the  man  who  stood  to  us 
for  Him,  let  us  quarry  the  stone  nearest  heaven.    Look 
to  the  ridge  yonder ;    that  has  not  been  opened  up  — 
who  will  work  with  me  to  open  up  the  highest  ridge 
in  The  Gore,  and  quarry  the  stone  to-night." 

The  volunteers  were  practically  all  the  men  in  the 
Upper  and  Lower  Quarries ;  the  foreman  was  obliged  to 
draw  lots.  The  men  worked  in  shifts  —  worked  during 
that  entire  night;  they  bared  a  space  of  sod;  cleared 
off  the  surface  layer;  quarried  the  rock,  using  the 
hand  drill  entirely.  Towards  morning  the  thick  granite 
slab,  that  lay  nearest  to  the  crimsoning  sky  among  the 
Flamsted  Hills,  was  hoisted  from  its  primeval  bed  and 
lowered  to  its  place  on  the  car. 

It  was  then  that  four  men,  Champney  Googe,  An- 
toine,  Jim  McCann,  and  Luigi  Poggi  asserted  their 
right,  by  reason  of  what  the  dead  had  been  to  them, 
to  cut  and  chisel  the  rock  into  sarcophagus  shape. 
Luigi  and  Antoine  asked  to  cut  the  cover  of  the  stone 
coffin. 

All  Saturday  afternoon,  the  four  men  in  Shed  Num 
ber  Two  worked  at  their  work  of  love,  of  unspeakable 
gratitude,  of  passionate  devotion  to  a  sacrificed  man 
hood.  They  wrought  in  silence.  All  that  afternoon, 
they  could  see,  by  glancing  up  from  their  work  and 
looking  out  through  the  shed  doors  across  the  field, 
the  silent  procession  entering  and  leaving  the  chapel. 
Sometimes  Jim  McCann  would  strike  wild  in  his  fever 
ish  haste  to  ease,  by  mere  physical  exertion,  his  great 
over-charged  heart  of  its  load  of  grief;  a  muttered 
curse  on  his  clumsiness  followed.  Now  and  then 


Flamsted  Quarries  493 

Champney  caught  his  eye  turned  upon  him  half-ap- 
pealingly;  but  they  spoke  no  word;  chip-chip-chip- 
ping,  they  worked  on. 

The  sun  set ;  electricity  illumined  the  shed.  Antoine 
worked  with  desperation;  Luigi  wrought  steadily, 
carefully,  beautifully  —  his  heart  seeking  expression 
in  every  stroke.  When  the  dawn  paled  the  electric 
lights,  he  laid  aside  his  tools,  took  off  his  canvas 
apron,  and  stepped  back  to  view  the  cover  as  a 
whole.  The  others,  also,  brought  their  stone  to  com 
pletion.  As  with  one  accord  they  went  over  to  look  at 
the  Italian's  finished  work,  and  saw  —  no  carving  of 
archbishop's  mitre,  no  sculpture  of  cardinal's  hat  (O 
mother,  where  were  the  day-dreams  for  your  boy !) , 
but  a  rough  slab,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a  raised 
heart  of  polished  granite,  and,  beneath  it,  cut  deep  into 
the  rock  —  which,  although  lying  yesterday  nearest  the 
skies  above  The  Gore,  was  in  past  aeons  the  founda 
tion  stone  of  our  present  world  —  the  words : 

THE   HEART   OF  THE   QUARRY. 

The  lights  went  out.  The  dawn  was  reddening  the 
whole  east;  it  touched  the  faces  of  the  men.  They 
looked  at  one  another.  Suddenly  McCann  grasped 
Champney's  hand,  and  reaching  over  the  slab  caught 
in  his  the  hands  of  the  other  two;  he  gripped  them 
hard,  drew  a  long  shuddering  breath,  and  spoke,  but 
unwittingly  on  account  of  his  habitual  profanity,  the 
last  word: 

"By  Jesus  Christ,  men,  we  're  brothers!" 
The  full  day  broke.    The  men  still  stood  there,  hand 
clasping  hand. 


Far  outside  the  common  run  of  Jiction.  —  Dial,  Chicago 


THE  WOOD-CARVER 
OF  'LYMPUS 


By  M.  E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "  A  Daughter  of  the  Rich,"  etc. 

With  frontispiece  by  Chase  Emerson.     12mo.    311  pages.    $1.50 

A  strong  tale  of  human  loves  and  hopes  set  in  a  back 
ground  of  the  granite  mountain-tops  of  remote  New  Eng 
land.  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

Hugh  Armstrong,  the  hero,  is  one  of  the  pronouncedly  high 
class  character  delineations  of  a  quarter  century.  —  Boston 
Courier. 

It  is  a  book  which  does  one  good  to  read  and  which  is  not 
readily  forgotten ;  for  in  it  are  mingled  inextricably  the  ele 
ments  of  humor  and  pathos  and  also  a  strain  of  generous 
feeling  which  uplifts  and  humanizes.  — Harry  Thruston  Peck, 
Editor  of  The  Bookman. 

A  few  books  are  published  every  year  that  really  minister 
to  the  tired  hearts  of  this  hurried  age.  They  are  like  little 
pilgrimages  away  from  the  world  across  the  Delectable  Moun 
tains  of  Good.  .  .  This  year  it  is  "The  Wood-Carver  of 
'Lympus."  ...  It  is  all  told  with  a  primitive  sweetness  that 
is  refreshing  in  these  days  when  every  writer  cultivates  the 
clever  style.  — Independent,  New  York. 

The  book  is  as  manly  as  "  Ralph  Connors,"  and  written  with 
a  more  satisfying  art. — Amos  R.  Wells,  in  Christian  Endeavor 
World.  

LITTLE,     BROWN,    &     CO.,    PUBLISHERS,    BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers 


Miss  Wallers  Delightful  Book  of  Travel 


By  MARY  E.   WALLER 
With  38  Halftone  plates.     Cloth,  in  box,  $1.50  net. 


A  graphic  and  fascinating  account  of  the  daily  life  and 
habits  of  the  people  of  the  Netherlands.  Miss  Waller's 
narrative  is  full  of  incidents  and  anecdotes,  and  its  humor 
is  of  the  abiding  kind.  —  Philadelphia  Record. 

She  takes  the  reader  into  the  very  heart  of  Dutch  life ; 
when  the  volume  is  finished  one  feels  that  he  too  has  lived 
for  a  time  among  these  people. — Providence  Journal. 

Not  only  a  fine  piece  of  printing,  but  is  illustrated  by  some 
fine  plates  which  give  a  splendid  idea  of  the  striking  features 
of  the  country.  —  Springfield  Republican. 

An  exceptionally  intimate  and  friendly  book  of  travel. 
Miss  Waller  spent  a  year  in  Holland ;  kept  house  at  The 
Hague;  tasted  the  modern  life  and  caught  at  the  echoes  of 
the  ancient  life  of  the  country ;  hunted  the  models  and  the 
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34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


By  the  Author  of"  The  Wood  Carver  of'Lympus." 


OUR    BENNY 


By  M.  E.  WALLER 

12mo.     Cloth.     Price  $1. 00  net. 


The  spirit  of  the  poem  is  one  of  lofty  heroism  and 
endeavor,  revealing  clearly  and  simply  the  magnanimity 
and  tenderness  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

It  is  fluent  and  simple  and  full  of  homely  pathos  of 
humor,  and  it  takes  a  place  next  below  "Snowbound"  and 
"  Myles  Standish." — Edwin  Markham  in  New  York  American. 

It  is  truly  a  pleasing  poem,  this  story  of  Benny,  the 
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memory  of  President  Lincoln.  —  Boston  Budget. 

Told  in  Hiawathan  verse,  this  narrative  poem  has  a 
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Among  the  World  Wide  Tributes  to  Lincoln  to  celebrate 
his  centenary,  perhaps  the  most  permanent  one  is  the 
great  narrative  poem  by  Mary  E.  Waller.  Miss  Waller 
has  the  gift  —  supreme  among  all  others  —  of  voicing  the 
pathos,  the  heroisms,  the  nobleness  of  simple,  untaught 
life.  —  Lilian  Whiting  in  the  New  Orleans  Times  Democrat. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


By  the  Author  of  "  The  Wood  Carver  of  'Lympus ' 


A  DAUGHTER  OF 
THE  RICH 


By  M.  E.  WALLER 

New  Edition,  Illustrated  by  Ellen  Bernard  Thompson 
12mo,   $1.50 

A  cheery  helpful  story.  —  Newark  Advertiser. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  book  is  sweet  and  wholesome.  — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

Not  since  those  charming  stories  of  Miss  Alcott's  has 
any  one  written  just  such  sweet  and  homely  idyls  of  plain, 
unaffected  family  life.  The  book  is  cordially  recommended 
to  all  those  who  have  loved  and  enjoyed  "  Little  Women  " 
or  "The  Old-Fashioned  Girl."  —  Kansas  City  Star. 

The  characters  are  drawn,  not  described,  opening  before 
the  reader  in  their  words  and  actions ;  every  one  is  a 
study,  and  the  plot  is  simple  and  well  developed,  —  New 
Orleans  Picayune. 

The  author  has  gotten  away  from  many  stereotyped 
themes,  and  has  introduced  as  her  heroine  a  little  girl  — 
the  child  of  a  rich  father  —  who  has  to  leave  New  York  on 
account  of  ill  health.  The  family  physician  finds  a  delight 
ful  corner  of  the  world  for  her,  where  there  are  other 
young  people.  The  unfolding  of  the  story  is  highly  inter 
esting.  —  St.  Louis  Globe- Democrat. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  fe?  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


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